


piano lessons

by Lineal



Series: the duet of our lives [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: (theyre really not), Classical Music, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Makki Deserves a Raise 2k20, Minor Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Minor Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Oikawa Needs to Stop Getting Injured 2k20, POV Iwaizumi Hajime, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Slow Burn, Violinist Kageyama Tobio, Violinist Oikawa Tooru, boy too dense to realize tho, cant believe id ever say that the essential elements books are good, i like to think im funny, kinda???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:06:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lineal/pseuds/Lineal
Summary: To Hajime, Oikawa is someone with the self preservation skills of a horror movie protagonist, but without all the plot armor and only a violin to protect himself with.So naturally, he worries (and maybe falls in love along the way).OR: Oikawa is a violinist and Hajime is the captain of Seijoh's Boys' Volleyball Club. They make a good pair. Maybe
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Series: the duet of our lives [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993924
Comments: 26
Kudos: 129





	piano lessons

**Author's Note:**

> Me 15 days ago: haha idea. this'll be quick. less than 1k. nanowrimo warmup yk  
> Me, 4k later: oho this is actually becoming a fic  
> Me, 10k later: wait-  
> Me, 14k later: okay, this is going to end soon-  
> Me, 20k later: What The Fuck  
> Me, after editing: WHY IS IT LONGER
> 
> i really thought the Sad Iwaoi Fic was long at 9k  
> this must be the power of iwaoi, huh
> 
> anywho. violinist oikawa, anyone?
> 
> (Total Iwa-chan Count: 176)

Honestly, Hajime should have been expecting something to happen, seeing how he can’t just _go places_ without his luck being drained dry and suddenly being thrust into some scene he’d normally only find in some cliché movie.

That’s just the fate that he’s been dealt, apparently. Must’ve been some great gods he pissed off in his previous life.

Anyway, the point is, Hajime _didn’t_ expect anything to happen. Nothing _should have_ happened. He was just being a good captain and visiting one of the first years in the hospital after they took an unfortunate fall during practice.

Arrival. Check.

Greetings. Check.

“Iwaizumi-san, no, you didn’t have to visit, I’m fine, don’t worry!” Check.

Gifts. Check.

“Iwaizumi-san, I swear I’m fine, you’re too nice, I can’t accept this, I—.” Check.

Wishing him a speedy recovery and then a quick goodbye. Check.

Leaving safely. Not check.

And just as Hajime leaves the room, satisfied with himself and how utterly normal the whole exchange has been, he lets his guard down.

And then someone takes that moment to grab him by the shirt and tackle him into the nearest storage closet that just happens to be unlocked and open, _because why not._

He should really start investing in talismans or something.

“Hey!” Hajime cries. “What the—.”

The door slams shut in his face. And he’s trapped in a storage closet. With some random person who decided today would be the day they ruined his life.

Someone in this room is going to die today, and hint hint, it’s not going to be Hajime.

The person hushes him.

“What the fuck, no!” Hajime nearly screams, equally loud as before, and he can see the panic flash through the guy’s eyes. Which, now that he gets a closer look of, are ridiculously wide and brown, and compliments his neatly styled hair that looks way too soft for all the hair gel that’s probably in it. “You can’t just— you just shoved me into a closet! What even— who even does that?!”

“You were in the way,” he murmurs, looking away.

“In the way? What, were you planning on just diving into here and locking yourself away for— holy shit, that’s exactly what you were doing.”

“Hey, you don’t get to judge me!” the guy’s face is bright red. “You were just standing there and I had no time to go around, so it’s technically your fault too.”

“My fault too, my ass, why are you even going around jumping into closets anyway?”

“I’m not—.” He shrieks when Hajime grabs him roughly by the shoulder and shakes him. “Wait, wait! I’m injured, you brute!”

Hajime finally notices the cast around his wrist and he scowls. “Well, even more reason why you shouldn’t be here!”

“Wait, you don’t understand,” the other boy protests weakly, but Hajime’s already reaching out for the door handle. “You don’t know what you’re doing. _Wait._ ”

But Hajime does not wait. No, Hajime is pissed, and when Hajime is pissed, he does not listen to anyone.

Unfortunately, though, life has other plans for him, _like always_ , and he only gets a glimpse of a very serious looking man in a suit before the door is slammed in his face again.

“Oh no, he’s here,” is all he gets as an explanation when he turns with a glare.

“Are you being chased by the police?”

“What, no!”

“Then why?”

“That’s my teacher! I just… I don’t want to deal with him right now. Don’t let him know I’m here. Please.”

Well would you look at that. He’s resorted to saying _“please”_.

Maybe he’s not as bad as Hajime originally thought?

He must be going soft, seeing quickly his anger dissipates and Hajime frowns. “Teacher? Like for school? Are you being chased? Do I need to get the police?”

“No, for…” The guy frowns at the question, as if the answer should be obvious. “You don’t… you don’t know who I am?”

He has the audacity to look shocked, as if the mere idea of it is an earth shattering discovery.

Holy shit, does he actually think the world revolves around him?

Never mind. Hajime takes back everything he just thought. Cocky bastard.

“Of course not,” Hajime bites out. He doesn’t bother to keep the irritation out of his voice, but at least he doesn’t voice the many other thoughts circulating through his head.

He blinks. Then grins warily, as if unsure of what to say.

“Well. The great Oikawa-san is. Well. Great. Yeah. That’s good. Good, yeah.”

Hajime raises a brow, unimpressed. So his name is Oikawa, huh. “Did you seriously just refer to yourself in third person?”

“Shut up!”

“I—.”

Someone knocks and they both freeze up.

“Oikawa-kun?” probably-the-man-from-earlier calls none too gently and Oikawa hangs his head. “Come on, your mother’s looking for you.”

“Yeah…”

And then he just opens the door and leaves Hajime in the dust.

Fucking rude.

Hajime pulls himself up and leaves.

(Not without getting caught and scolded, of course. He can never avoid those like they do in the movies)

Later that night, he’ll stay up thinking of how close Oikawa looked to crying, how the smile he had plastered on his face when he left was fake, artificial, something Hajime wants to wipe away until he can see that real smile, the genuine one that he had seen a bit of a few minutes before that.

And then Hajime will mentally slap himself. Because how the hell would he know that? And it’s not like they’ll ever see each other again. Yeah. That’s a stupid thing to wish for.

* * *

They meet again.

Of course, what was he thinking?

Hajime has some money set aside for those talismans. He should just buy them already.

He, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa are walking home from school after practice, with him shouting at a few members he sees still hanging around to go home and eat a proper meal.

He storms into a convenience store and chucks a water bottle at Hanamaki’s head when the annoying wing spiker brings up the fact that he forgot his water at school.

So yeah. For the most part, his evening is okay. Perfectly normal. 

Completely, utterly, totally ordinary.

And then he catches sight of a familiar man in a suit carrying a strangely shaped black case. Following him is none other than the very person who ruined Hajime’s week, sullenly fidgeting with his cast.

Hajime ducks on instinct, which, yay, doesn’t go unnoticed by his two friends.

“Iwaizumi?” Matsukawa frowns, actually concerned.

“You good?”

Hajime tries to shush them but it’s too late. Oikawa notices him too, and for some reason, his face brightens up immediately. He exchanges a few words with his teacher with a (painfully fake) apologetic smile and comes bouncing over, cutting off all ways of escape just as Hajime considers dropping everything and bolting.

“Oh! It’s closet dude!” he exclaims, waving wildly with his good hand.

Hajime cringes. Matsukawa raises a brow and Hanamaki snorts.

“Closet dude?” Hajme repeats indignantly, ignoring the growing snickers behind him.

“Well I mean, you never told me your name.”

_“Closet dude?”_ Hanamaki laughs. “Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi. What have you been doing to poor, defenseless, broken-armed people in closets?”

“Damn, would have never expected that from you,” Matsukawa whistles. “What would our dear juniors think?”

“Would you two kindly shut the fuck up,” Hajime hisses. “And you!” He jabs his thumb in the direction of all his pain and suffering. “Oikawa, what do you think you’re doing?”

His face falls. “Oh. You know who I am now?”

“Shittykawa,” Hajime deadpans. “The little piece of shit who tackled me into a hospital storage closet.”

It’s like something has flipped once again, and Oikawa looks absolutely ecstatic.

Like a kid, Hajime thinks fondly, before taking another mental slap to the face.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s me,” he beams before his face twists. “Wait, _shitty_? Iwa-chan, you meanie!”

“What— what did you just call me?”

“Iwa-chan,” Matsukawa grins. “Adorable.”

“Fitting for our spiky little ace, don’t you think?”

“Go home,” Hajime barks as a reply and stomps off, dragging Oikawa behind him by his good arm. “And hydrate, you dumbasses!”

“Iwa-chan? Iwa-chan, wait,” Oikawa calls. “Iwa-chan!”

“Iwa-chan?” Hajime seethes, face burning. That’s almost worse than Closet Dude.

“Yeah! I mean. Is that… is that bad?”

“Yes!”

“Well, I was thinking that Iwa-chan would be so much cuter if he had a cute nickname,” Oikawa mutters. “Don’t think it’s working, though, grumpy Iwa.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Iwa-chan’s?”

“Yours!”

The brunette fidgets as subtly as he can, but it doesn’t escape Hajime’s eyes. “Oh.”

“What?”

“Nothing…”

“What?”

“Nothing!”

_“What?”_

“Well, I just— don’t friends give each other nicknames?” Oikawa hides his face with his hands.

Hajime blinks, and it’s his turn to be taken aback. “We’re friends?”

“We’re… not?”

And yup, Hajime is definitely going soft. He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean. The only time we’ve ever interacted was with you tackling me into a closet and leaving me to die.”

“...you’re never letting that one go, are you?”

“No. Anyway, so we’re not friends yet,” Hajime concludes. “Gotta give it time, you know?”

Oikawa gapes at him and— oh shit, he’s crying.

“Iwa-chan…”

“Ah—.”

“Oikawa-kun!”

On a normal day, Hajime would be furious about getting interrupted. But today, he’s _glad_ . He was five seconds away from reaching out and wiping the tears away with his hand. He was _that close_.

Oikawa doesn’t look as happy. He wrinkles his nose in annoyance.

(Annoyingly cute— no, shut up, brain—)

“Oh. Him again.” Then his whole face does a complete 180 and he grins apologetically with a, “Ah, sorry Iwa-chan! I’ll see you later!” before jogging away, leaving Hajime behind for the second time that week.

Hajime watches him go with a frown. All of his “danger, this person can and _will_ get themself injured on anything, anywhere, and anytime” and “danger, this person will send you to your early grave” alarms are blaring in his head, and like a fool, he ignores them.

Really, what is he getting himself into?

* * *

He belatedly realizes that he doesn’t even know Oikawa’s first name or his phone number, and there’s absolutely no guarantee that they’ll ever meet again.

Well. Fuck.

* * *

“Iwa-chan!”

They meet _again_.

The talismans aren’t working, he’s been scammed.

“Iwa-chan!”

Wait. Maybe they are? Wasn’t he looking forward to them meeting again?

“Iwa-chan!”

Wait, what. Why?

“Iwa-chan!”

Hajime jumps when a pair of hands slam down onto his table and he nearly drops his paper cup.

“What.”

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa huffs. “Were you ignoring me?”

Yes? Maybe? “No.”

“Liar,” he sticks his tongue out before plopping down on the seat next to Hajime. It’s a good thing that the cafe he decided to do homework at is nearly empty. If it wasn’t, he would probably combust and die on the spot.

“What’re you doing here?” he grumbles.

“So mean! Aren’t we supposed to be friends?”

“No.”

“But Iwa-chan!”

“Not yet, dumbass.”

Oikawa grins cheekily before swiping the cup from Hajime’s hold— with his left hand, which is completely healed now— and taking a long sip.

He chokes. “What the— Iwa-chan, what are you drinking?”

“Kombucha. It’s healthy.” Hajime snatches it back. “And what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you! Is Iwa-chan secretly an old man in disguise?” Oikawa lets out a scandalized gasp. “I can’t believe this!”

“Oh, shut up, you dumbass.”

“You know, Iwa-chan’s vocabulary is rather limited. Wouldn’t it be better to use more creative insults?” Oikawa pipes up.’ “But I guess that’s to be expected from a brute like— ow! See?”

Hajime stares straight into his eyes. “Shittykawa.”

“Oh. _No_.”

“Crappykawa. Trashykawa.”

“Iwa-chan!”

* * *

“Oh wait, Oikawa.” Just as they’re about to part ways again, Hajime remembers. “Can I have your phone for a second?”

“Phone?” 

“Yeah, like. Your cellphone. The thing you call people with?”

“Oh.” Oikawa visibly deflates and he looks down. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t— wait, how old are you?”

“Seventeen…”

“What.”

“Mom says they’re distracting, okay.”

“What.”

“And it’s not like I need to use it.”

“What.”

“Iwa-chan, stop that.”

“Oikawa. Could it be…?” he leans in close as if sharing a well guarded secret. “You don’t have any friends?”

Something indescribable flashes in Oikawa’s eyes and for a second, Hajime almost regrets his words. But then it’s gone, and he’s pouting petulantly. “What? No! I’m, like, really popular Iwa-chan. Everyone loves me! Maybe you’re mistaking my social life with your own?”

“He’s getting defensive,” Hajime narrates in a mixture of calm yet infuriating, something he’s involuntarily picked up from Matsukawa over the years.

“Iwa-chan, mean!”

“Really, though, how have you gone so long without a phone? Don’t you need to contact people?”

“Oh, that?” Oikawa bites his lip. “My mom and teacher usually set everything up.”

“Huh.”

“But! We have a home phone so we can call, right?”

“Yeah. Uh, wait, let me give you my number,” Hajime nods, digging through his bag to grab a pen.

It takes a while to find a piece of paper that isn’t completely covered in notes, but he manages to dig one out and hastily scribble his name and number on it.

Oikawa holds it and stares at it as if it’s the greatest treasure he’s ever seen.

He smiles softly. _Genuinely._

Hajime’s heart skips a beat.

“Hajime, huh. That’s even prettier than Iwa-chan.”

He barely makes it home before he’s burying his face into a pillow and screaming.

* * *

Hajime’s phone rings at three in the morning.

It’s from an unknown number, and he almost hangs up immediately before his drowsy brain finally recalls the events from earlier today.

Hajime bolts up into a sitting position, accepting the call. “Hello?”

“Iwa-chan, you’re famous!”

“I’m— wha— huh? Oikawa, right?”

“Yeah. Iwa-chan, why are you so cool? This isn’t fair.”

“Cool?” he rubs his eyes groggily.

“Like you slap the ball so hard! Have you broken anyone’s arm yet?”

“What?”

“With the ball and net, and oh my god, Iwa-chan, even though you’re so tiny, you jumped so high, and—.”

“Volleyball?” Hajime guesses. “Ugh. Sorry, maybe you should call me back at a more decent time like, you know, a decent human being.”

“I don’t have any other time…”

“It’s 3am, what have you been doing?”

“...practicing. Mom just went to bed too.”

“Practicing? For _what_?”

“Nothing, nothing! But Iwa-chan, this isn’t fair, are you even human? And you go to such a nice school too! Hey, is Iwa-chan popular there?”

“School…” Hajime freezes. “Wait. _Did you search me up_?”

“Y-yeah? Wait, is that bad?”

“No. I mean, yes. No. Yes, it is!” Hajime groans, falling back so that his head hits his pillow with a thud. “Who even does that?”

“I just wanted to know more about you. Since we’re friends.”

“Not yet, dumbass.”  
  
“So mean!” How is there so much energy in his voice at this hour? Hajime will never understand night people.

“By the way, how many things came up when you searched me up?”

“Hm. A lot? Iwa-chan, why didn’t you tell me you were famous?”

“That’s not— ugh, I hate publicity.”

“Maybe that’s because deep down, inside, you know you’re not fit to live among us advanced humans— I’m sorry, oh my god, I can feel you trying to punch me through the phone, you brute!”

Hajime ends up going back to sleep thirty minutes before he has to get up for morning practice.

But was it worth it?

Debatable.

* * *

“Full offense, captain, you look like shit today.”

“Thanks, Hanamaki.”

“No problem, man. Just telling the truth.”

Hajime grumbles something incoherent under his breath as he tries to change shirts, but ends up missing the buttons five times and gives up instead.

The other members of the club watch, either in morbid curiosity or unadulterated fear.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kyoutani grunts, breaking the awkward silence. “Who needs their kneecaps stolen?”

Hajime stares, unblinking. Someone coughs in the background.

“Yes. Oh. No. I mean.” His brain catches up a second too late and there’s another pregnant pause before he speaks again. “Actually I might need to speak with the newspaper club. And photography club. And— I mean, it’s not—.”

“So it’s that Yamamoto bastard, huh. Knew he wasn’t any good.”

“Kyoutani,” Yahaba warns with a glare. “If you do something I can and will throw you off the roof.”

“Please,” Kyoutani snorts in response. “You? Little precious, goody-two-shoes you?”

“Or I could kabedon you in front of the whole school.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Hajime sighs, running a hand down his face as the two second years dissolve into yet another round of bickering. “That dumbass… can’t he just leave me alone?”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchange glances.

The next day, he finds a bottle of pepper spray in his locker. When asked about it, the meme team of Aobajohsai deny having anything to do with it.

* * *

“Hey, hey, Iwa-chan.”

“Hm?”

Oikawa pauses in surprise. Hajime can’t blame him; this is the first time he’s actually replied to anything in weeks. For the most part, he usually just dozes off to Oikawa’s voice during their nightly calls, seeing how it’s impossible for Hajime to stay awake the whole time and not act half-dead the next morning.

On a completely unrelated note, his phone bill is going to be absolutely insane this month.

“Oh, uh, I was just wondering… do you play an instrument?”

“An instrument?” Hajime blinks. “Nah. Volleyball takes up all my time these days. I think I played the recorder in grade school, though?”

“The recorder?” Oikawa snorts. “Adorable.”

Hajime rolls his eyes despite the fact that the brunette can’t see him. “And so what do you, the almighty king of trash, play, then?”

There’s a hesitant pause and then, “Well, because you asked so nicely, the great Oikawa-san plays the violin.”

“Violin.”

“...yeah.”

“That’s boring,” Hajime says dryly. “Hm, I actually thought you’d play something like piano. Something about, I don’t know, you gotta move your hands more?”

“Excuse you, Iwa-chan, you move your hands _plenty_ with violin.”

“Huh.”

“Yes, and it’s, dare I say, even more work than volleyball.”

“Oh, shut it,” Hajime grumbles. “So? Why’d you tell me that?”

No reply.

“Oikawa?”

“Ah, Iwa-chan, you’re supposed to figure it out yourself,” Oikawa whines. His cheeks are probably puffed up in a pout from the sounds of it, in that adorable— no, annoying way he always does it. “You know, search me up too. So we’re even, right?”

“You’re ridiculous.” But Hajime’s already getting up to turn his laptop on. 

> **_Google Search: oikawa violin_ **
> 
> _Oikawa Tooru: 17 Years Old, Blooming and Cultivating Talent…_
> 
> _Oikawa Tooru “A. Vivaldi The Four Seasons, Op. 8, Winter”..._
> 
> _Oikawa Tooru / Menuhan Competition 20XX, Senior finals_
> 
> _More..._

Sure enough, there’s Oikawa on the screen; pictures and videos of him smiling cheerily or staring ahead at nothing in particular, eyes narrowed and face scrunched up in concentration with a sort of intensity that Hajime has only ever seen on himself and his opponents on the court before.

It’s a strange new look on him, foreign to anything he has ever seen before. That doesn’t mean it’s an unwelcome change, though.

“Hm. You didn’t tell me you were famous, too.”

“Well! I did say that I was popular…”

“Oikawa Tooru,” Hajime whispers, testing it, letting it roll smoothly off his tongue. Oikawa’s silence that follows this is almost nervous, apprehensive. “Somehow that’s even worse than Shittykawa.”

At that, Oikawa laughs, more lighthearted than he has been all night. “So mean, Iwa-chan.”

They end the call early. Hajime falls asleep to the sound of soft violin instead of quiet rambling for the first time in weeks.

He dreams of sunsets and Spring mornings. Flowers and meadows and a certain boy, beaming back at him from ear to ear.

* * *

“Morning, Iwaizumi.”

“Morning.”

“Looking like shit again, I see.”

“Thanks, Hanamaki. Really needed to know that.”

“No problem.”

Matsukawa arches a brow with a completely stoic face. “Busy night with closet boy?”

“Matsukawa. Laps.”

“Abuse of power. Vice captain powers let me override that.”

“That’s it, I’m making Yahaba vice captain now.”

“Aww, come on.”

Hajime finds himself listening to more violin during lunch break until his friends find him and drag him to the gym to test out some new attack that apparently can’t wait until afternoon practice.

Hanamaki frowns when he snatches Hajime’s phone away and sees what’s playing. “Oh? Since when did you listen to classical music?”

He doesn’t. There’s just something about these particular videos that draw him towards them. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s Oikawa playing, pouring his heart and soul into it, and not just another random person he’ll never meet in his lifetime.

It’s almost as if he’ll suddenly understand the other boy so much better just by listening to a few minutes of Clair de Lune or one one of Chopin’s Nocturnes or some other pieces that he can’t name.

But Hajime can’t just say that, so he shrugs. “Dunno. Probably just a phase.”

* * *

When they’ve finished practice for the day, Hajime turns on his phone to find twenty one missed calls and ten voice messages from none other than Oikawa Tooru.

“This is going to be the start of another headache, isn’t it?” he mutters, absentmindedly pressing play on the first one.

A loud, blaring “IWA-CHAN!” echoes through the gym and then cuts off.

That’s it. That’s the whole fucking message.

All heads are turned towards him, and Hajime clears his throat, flustered. “Uh. I need to go early, so can you guys finish cleaning up? Good job today, get home, eat a proper meal and rest. And don’t forget to hydrate!”

He hurries outside, but not without catching the conversation of the only two people on the team brave— or perhaps foolish— enough to talk back to him.

“Looks like captain’s got himself a little closet date,” Matsukawa wolf whistles.

“Our little boy’s all grown up.” Hanamaki pretends to wipe away a nonexistent tear.

“Introduce us to closet boy sometime, will you?”

“Ah yes, closet boy and closet dude. The perfect closet pair.”

“Oh my god, you two are insufferable,” Hajime growls, poking his head back in through the doorway.

“You love us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hajime grits out. “Hey everyone, you can go home now. Your two _wonderful_ upperclassmen have volunteered to clean the _whole_ gym. By themselves. With their toothbrushes.”

“Really?” Kindaichi, bless his soul, gawks.

“Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi, Iwaizumi. Surely you’ve misheard,” Hanamaki clicks his tongue.

“Oh yeah, sorry, my bad. They’ve agreed to clean up for the rest of the month. Everyday. Mornings and afternoons.”

“You can’t do this to us, mom.”

“Fuck off.”

“So mean!”

He ignores how the same exact phrase only pulls on his heartstrings if it’s in Oikawa’s voice. After all, there’s no particular reason for that. That dumbass is just being a whiny idiot. Nothing else.

* * *

Hajime skims through the messages, feeling more and more disappointed as time passes and the only thing Oikawa has said is way too many different variations of “Iwa-chan!”

He waits until his phone starts ringing at midnight to scowl and interrupt Oikawa halfway through his greetings. “What were all those about? Why were you even calling during class?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Yeah, yeah, how did you even manage to scream my name into the phone during class? Which, by the way, _why_?”

“Free time. Finished all my work,” Oikawa shrugs.

“And your teacher let you do that?”

“I’m homeschooled.”

“Oh.” A conversation they had a couple nights ago floats to the top of Hajime’s head and he smirks. “So top of class, huh?”

“I— I mean, that’s technically the truth!”

“Whatever you say, Dumbykawa.”

“Hey!”

They drift off into some casual conversation, with Hajime talking about his day and Oikawa complaining about having to practice and miss some alien documentary that he’s been looking forward to.

“Oh, yeah, by the way,” Hajime clears his throat, moments before he would probably start falling asleep.

“Hm?”

“What’d you want to talk about? When you called me today.”

“Oh that? It’s stupid, nevermind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Iwa-chan, really.”

“Tell me, then. It’d be no different from what you usually tell me, anyway.”

“Hey!”

“So?”

“Ah…” Oikawa mumbles. “It’s just… I have a recital soon so we might not be able to call or see each other for a while.”

“A recital?” Hajime shifts in his bed. “Oh, then can’t I just go see you there?”

“Yes! No! I mean, I want you to go, but, like, you probably won’t be able to afford it?”

“Bet. How much are the tickets?”

“...”

“Oikawa?”

“Uh, 15000 yen, I think?”

“What.”

“Yeah.”

“For one— why?”

“I don’t know?”

“Hm,” Hajime hums. “How about after, though? Can we meet then?”

Oikawa perks up. “Yeah! I’ll give you the date tomorrow.”

The rest of the call is spent with Oikawa rambling about all the different places the two of them could go together. Hajime dreams of picnics and the city, days spent at cafes and arcades, and the sunny sky with no clouds in sight to block the light.

* * *

Most days, Hajime usually regrets sacrificing his sleep to satisfy Oikawa’s daily social interaction meter.

Today is one of those days but about a thousand times worse.

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kunimi pipes up after the team has watched him stare blankly at his locker for a whole ten minutes. “What’s wrong with you today?”

“Kunimi!” Kindaichi gawks in disbelief. Matsukawa and Hanamaki snicker but their eyes are also shifting towards him in concern.

“Kunimi,” Hajime murmurs, with no idea what he’s doing. “Do you ever wake up and feel like you’ve sold your soul to the devil in your sleep? Because that’s how I feel today.” He grabs Kunimi by the shoulders. “But it feels like he’s taken my heart too.”

“Is— is that so.”

“Iwaizumi, why don’t you go to sleep instead of practice for now?”

The Responsible Captain part of him wants to argue, but the Tired part of him pushes that aside. “Yeah, sure. Oh, and by the way, Mattsun.”

“Yeah?” Matsukawa responds as if everything is totally normal.

“Can you and Makki take care of practice today?”

“Sure,” Hanamaki nods, although he’s having more difficulty disguising his wary look.

What’s wrong with what he’s saying? Sleepy Hajime does not know.

Sleepy Hajime does not care either.

Sleepy Hajime just wants to get his eight hours of sleep in for once.

* * *

He does not, in fact, manage to get eight hours in there.

About an hour later, he’s rudely woken up for class. By Kindaichi. The team really needs to stop sending their innocent first years to do all of their dangerous tasks.

It’s not until Sleepy Hajime has turned into Semi-Coherent Hajime that he’s wandering into class and coming face to face with Matsukawa, who greets him casually and then drops in a “Mattsun, huh” without even looking in his direction.

“Yeah— wha?” Hajime splutters, feeling his remaining brain cells attempting to do _something_ with words. “Mattsun— wait I— what?”

“Take your time.”

“Mattsu— Matsukawa.”

“Oh, oh, here’s a hint. Makki.”

Hajime buries his face in his arms. “I called you that, didn’t I?” 

“Bingo.”

“Oh my god, I swear that’s not what I usually call you.”

“I don’t know, you seemed awfully comfortable with them.”

“It’s just— Oikawa calls you guys that, so I guess his stupidity went and infected my brain too— he has a thing about nicknames, don’t know why. But anyway—.”

“Oikawa, huh. So that’s the infamous closet boy’s name?”

“Yes, now would you stop calling him that?”

“Closetkawa.”

Glaring olive eyes meet bored black ones.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Just wait until I tell Makki about this.”

_“Matsukawa.”_

* * *

A month passes with no late night calls and a decent amount of sleep for Hajime, yet he feels heavier in the mornings than when he was running on an average of about four hours of rest per day.

He’s been having trouble falling asleep when there’s no reassuring voice talking to him in the background. The distant violin he listens to as a substitute might scream “Oikawa,” but it’s just not the same.

They lose to Shiratorizawa at the Summer Interhigh, and yet another chance to go to Nationals slips through their fingers. Hajime begins working part time at the neighborhood convenience store in between practice and homework.

Time goes by in a flash.

* * *

On the day of Oikawa’s recital, Hajime watches a recording of it as he waits for the phone to ring.

Every subtle shift in expression, slight movement as he sways, the atmosphere around him, sweet and light yet fierce and powerful at the same time; nothing slips by Hajime’s watchful eyes.

It’s strange how he can read Oikawa so well after only seeing him in person a total of three times. Creepy, almost, if Hajime says so himself. Are people usually this close with others after only a few months of phone calls?

Wait, are they even friends yet?

Now that he thinks about it, they haven’t officially announced their friendship yet, but they should be friends by now, right? Is that how things work?

Before he can dive further into the mess called his thoughts, Hajime’s phone begins ringing and he dives onto his bed to pick it up.

“Oikawa!”

“Iwa-chan!”

They both exclaim it at the same time, and then there’s a few seconds of silence before Oikawa’s giggling.

It’s been far too long since Hajime has last heard his voice.

“Hey,” he greets with a chuckle.

“Iwa-chan,” Oikawa chimes, dragging out the syllables. “I’ve missed you.”

“Oh— oh, yeah?”

“Did you miss me?”

Yes. “No.”

“Ah, mean as always! That’s the Iwa-chan I know and love.”

“Shut up,” Hajime grumbles, and his cheeks are definitely _not_ tinted red. “Oh yeah, good job today, by the way.”

“Thank you— wait, you watched it?” Oikawa shrieks.

“Uh. Yeah? As a recording.”

“But you. You just _listened_ , right? You didn’t _watch_ it, right? Right?”

Hajime frowns. Why’s he getting so nervous about it? “I watched it. Why?”

“But— but you didn’t watch _me_ , right? Just the— just the stage or something, right?”

“Uhh. You were the biggest thing on the screen?” Hajime provides unhelpfully.

“No,” Oikawa moans. “No, Iwa-chan, you weren’t supposed to see me like that!”

“Why not?” Hajime crosses his arms over his chest stubbornly out of habit. “What were you even expecting me to do?”

“I’m so ugly when I play,” he wails. “And I look so _mean_!”

“So?” You’re beautiful. Wait. What—. “We both already know you’re a shitty person.”

“‘No, Oikawa-san. No, you’re not ugly and mean. You’re absolutely stunning and the nicest person I know,’” Oikawa huffs, lowering the pitch of his voice to a comedic level.

Hajime snorts, shaking his head. “Actually, though. You look fine.”

“...really?”

“Yeah, really. But that’s not important right now. When are you free this week?”

Hajime wakes up the next morning, and his first thought is “oh fuck, I didn’t ask him about the friendship thing.”

He doesn’t feel too bothered, though. Hearing Oikawa’s voice again has managed to calm him down and suddenly, everything is fine. They don’t need to say it directly; he _knows_ that they’re no longer just strangers anymore.

Hajime goes to school feeling lighter than he has been in weeks.

* * *

“Something wrong with your hand?”

“Hm?” Oikawa glances up from where he’s tenderly massaging his wrist. “Oh, this? It’s nothing. Just a bit sore, I guess.”

“Violin?”

“...yeah.”

“Damn, that thing actually hurts you?” Hajime clicks his tongue. He extends a hand. “Give. Let me help.”

“Y— yeah,” Oikawa chuckles weakly, following his orders without any complaints. “It’s really not that bad, though, so don’t worry.”

“I spend most of the time with a bunch of dumb volleyball players who brush off concussions to stay on the court,” Hajime grumbles. Fuck, Oikawa’s skin is actually as soft as it looks, how is that possible? “I think worrying is an instinct by now.”

“Is that so?” the violinist laughs airily. Wow, Iwa-chan, you’re good at this. Wouldn’t have expected that from a brute like— OW!”

Hajime grins smugly as Oikawa rubs his arm, feigning hurt.

“Why am I even friends with mean, violent Iwa-chan?”

“Hey, let’s not forget who tackled this ‘mean, violet Iwa-chan’ into a closet.”

“Ugh, can’t we move on from that already?”

“Never.”

They’re at a McDonalds, having ditched all plans of going to a nice cafe downtown because apparently, Oikawa has never had fast food in his life before.

Even Hajime, greatest hater of unhealthy food, has been coerced into eating it every once in a while by his so-called friends.

So here they are, almost two hours later, with Oikawa savoring every bite of his food in the most annoying, infuriating way possible.

(Not that Hajime minds. It’s nice to see him so happy. Not like he’ll ever admit to it out loud, though)

((Correction: he really wishes Oikawa hurry up, though, or the rest of their plans are gonna go down the drain too))

Calling for hours over the phone is one thing. Actually seeing the other boy in person is something completely different. 

It’s better, clearer. Hajime can see every small movement that Oikawa makes instead of having to imagine it in his head. There’s no screen separating them; no static disorientating their voices.

It’s nice.

But still… “Oikawa, if you don’t finish that burger in the next five minutes I’m kicking your ass into the nearest trashcan and leaving you to rot with your people.”

“Mean!”

* * *

“Iwa-chan, where are you taking me?” Oikawa tries to reach up to peel off the makeshift blindfold but Hajime slaps his hand away and yanks him along harder. “Hey! You’re not secretly a kidnapper are you?”

“Huh.”

“I can’t believe this. The betrayal!”

“You’ve caught me,” Hajime sighs, shaking his head sadly. “I’m sorry it had to come to this, Oikawa. But the truth is—.”

“You’re an alien prince from Neptune who was exiled and ordered to bring me, the Great Oikawa-san, back as a sacrifice? I should have known.”

“How did you know?”

“Foolish Iwa-chan, I’ve known since the beginning.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then both of them are giggling uncontrollably as Hajime steers Oikawa down a path winding through the forest. 

“We’re almost there, foolish human,” he manages to whisper between breaths before they break off into laughter once again.

“Okay, but actually, I need to get home soon. Pretty sure mom knows by now that this isn’t some normal errand— woah.”

Hajime takes that moment to take the last few steps up the trail and gently slip off the blindfold.

Oikawa lets out another breathless “woah” and skips into the center of the clearing that Hajime has brought them to. It’s quiet, far out into the mountains, away from society and any worries left behind there.

Stars dot the sky above, twinkling brightly, reflecting in Oikawa’s eyes as he stares up in wonder. “Oh my god, Iwa-chan, it’s so pretty!”

“Thought you’d like it.”

“Like it? I love it!” he grins giddily. “Oh, this is amazing. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“I wonder why, Mr. Never-Leaves-Town-Or-Goes-Out-After-Five.”

“Shut up, practicing is important,” Oikawa huffs halfheartedly. “Ooh, you can see Polaris from here! And the Big Dipper! And the Little Dipper, and—.”

“Aliens?” Hajime teases, stepping out into the meadow to stand by his side.

“Aliens? What are you talking about, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa blurts, waving his hands around in panic. “Oh, that thing from earlier? That was just a joke, there’s no way I’m interested in aliens, aliens are for nerds—.”

“Did you just call yourself a nerd?”

“Iwa-chan, I swear I’m not!”

“Who do you think you’re fooling?” Hajime rolls his eyes. “Shittykawa, you never shut up about your alien obsession whenever we call.”

Another perk of meeting in person: Hajime can actually see Oikawa when he drifts off into silence. There’s no risk of him disappearing or hanging up, no longer a need for waiting for his reply with bated breath.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa cries when he’s gathered his wits. “You actually listen to me?!”

“Uh, yeah?”

“No, I trusted you!” he bemoans. “My reputation as the perfect, cool, amazing violinist that everyone knows and loves is gone now. Goodbye, Iwa-chan. The aliens of Neptune can take me now, I’ll go willingly. I mean, not that I wouldn’t go willingly earlier, but—.”

“Oh, just go back to searching for those aliens, you nerd.”

“Mean,” Oikawa sticks his tongue out petulantly. He ends up settling down by Hajime’s side, sprawling out on the grass after a few minutes, though. He smiles, content. “Oh wow, everything’s so much brighter in person. Hey, Iwa-chan, can you—.”

Oikawa turns his head and suddenly, their faces are just mere inches apart.

There’s a moment of peace where Hajime realizes that, goddammit, he can probably see the whole galaxy in Oikawa’s eyes, deep and sparkling.

“Uh…”

“Ah,” Oikawa pulls away, and Hajime can’t stop the disappointment growing inside him. “Also.” Oikawa readjusts his position so that he’s using Hajime’s chest as a pillow. “I think this is more comfortable.”

Hajime doesn’t protest, doesn’t mention how the disappointment vanishes in an instant. He doesn’t mention that his chest is so hard that he once gave someone a concussion by running into them. Instead, he slowly brings his hand up to run his fingers through Oikawa’s hair.

Hajime was right. It’s soft.

* * *

They stay like that for about another hour or so until they realize that Oikawa was supposed to get home thirty minutes ago.

The trip back features a series of loud cursing, nearly tripping over the uneven pathway, and everything else Hajime has been trying his hardest to avoid all day.

Well. Can’t say he didn’t see that coming. Since when did anything of his go according to plan?

Still, despite the rush, they linger at the bus stop where they’re supposed to split ways.

“So,” Oikawa begins, almost shyly.

“So.”

“Thanks for today, I guess. I had fun.”

Hajime feels his heart swell up in happiness. He tries and probably fails to keep a straight face. “No problem.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and.” He reaches into his pocket, digging out a small box, about the size of his hand. “Here. Take this.”

“What’s this?” Oikawa accepts the box curiously. His eyes widen when he reads the writing on it and he gapes at Hajime disbelievingly.

“Um.”

“Iwa-chan, what…?”

“It’s a phone. A flip phone, but it’s uh. Yours now, I guess.”

“Iwa-chan… wasn’t this expensive?”

“Didn’t cost too much. And it’s just because it’s really annoying to have to wait for you to get to your home phone,” Hajime grumbles, looking away. “And also. Good job at the recital, you know? Don’t get me wrong, but—.”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence. Oikawa squeals in delight and pounces onto Hajime. “Iwa-chan!”

“Hey, hey, don’t break it.”

“I won’t. Oh my god, I’m so happy. Is this really for me? Iwa-chan?”

“Yeah.” The bus comes into view and Hajime bites his lip. “I already put my number in there. You can put in others if you want.”

“This is going to be an Iwa-chan phone,” Oikawa decides, stepping back as the bus pulls up to the stop.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?”

Moments before the door closes on him, Oikawa turns to face Hajime. “Really, thanks for everything.”

“Yeah. Text me when you get home?”

“Of course, with my trusty, brand new Iwa-chan phone!”

“Be careful or the aliens are gonna get you!”

The faint smell of lavender floats in the air behind Hajime as he begins his quiet walk home.

* * *

**Oikawa:** iwa-chan!!! i’m home!!!!!! ヽ(・∀・*)ﾉ

**Oikawa:** but looks like the aliens didn’t want me tonight (；＿；)

**Iwa-chan:** wtf

**Iwa-chan:** why are you using those

**Oikawa:** what?

**Oikawa:** you mean these?

**Oikawa:** (o≧∇≦) (o￣▽￣o) (ﾟДﾟ;) ヽ(*゜∀゜*)ノC= C= C= C= C= ┌(￣ｰ￣)┘ヾ(;ﾟДﾟ;)ｼ Σ(☉ω☉ノ)ノ（★＾▽＾）

**Iwa-chan:** whats this? the block button?

**Iwa-chan:** wow it seems to be calling my name

**Oikawa:** IWA-CHAN NO IM SORRY（；´Д｀） 

**Oikawa:** wait actually

**Oikawa:** one more

**Oikawa:** щ(ಠ益ಠщ)

**Oikawa:** (it’s iwa-chan!!!) （●｀∀´●）

**Iwa-chan:** … 

**Oikawa:** OKAY IM SORRY FOR REAL

**Oikawa:** PLEASE DONT BLOCK ME

**Iwa-chan:** wow i can really tell this is the first time youve ever touched a phone in your life

**Oikawa:** mean ヾ(｀ε´)ﾉ 

**Iwa-chan:** go to sleep shittykawa

* * *

“Ugh, Oikawa, the whole point of getting you a phone was so we wouldn’t have to call at the most obscure, pain in the ass times ever,” Hajime groans, voice muffled by his pillow.

“Oh come on, you love it when I talk.”

“Not now, I don’t.”

“Iwa-chan, have I ever told you you’re a big fat meanie?”

“Plenty.”

“Well good, because that’s what you are.”

“At least I’m not the one spending my night screaming about some kid, who— what’s his name again?”

“Kageyama Tobio,” Oikawa seethes.

“Yeah, Kageyama, who’s apparently a genius who has done _absolutely nothing_ to you except destroy your ego—.”

“No, Iwa-chan, he did not _just_ ‘destroy my ego’, he’s a little brat who _doesn’t know his place_ —.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’d he do again? Play a song perfectly when you couldn’t—.”

“A piece, you dumb dumb, and he did _not_ play it perfectly, weren’t you listening?”

“No, I want to sleep!”

“Well, let me tell you,” Oikawa continues. “Let me tell you, he always plays everything so— so ugly! It’s ridiculous! And the judges like that.”

“Yeah, okay, I get it. And why _exactly_ do you need to complain about him? Just let him do his thing and you can do yours. Bam. Problem solved. That easy.”

“It’s not that easy, you simple-minded neanderthal.” 

“Yes it is.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is not.”

“Is too.”

“Is. Not.”

“Holy shit, are you a kid?”

“Are you?”

“Be nicer to your juniors.”

“No.”

Hajime scowls. “Oikawa.”

“No!”

_“Tooru,”_ he says warningly.

“...”

“...”

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan.”

He blinks hard. “Huh.”

“That’s it? I swallow up my pride and apologize and all I get is a pathetic ‘huh’?”

“You don’t deserve an apology, Shittykawa.”

“So mean!” 

It’s nearing 4am when Oikawa finally speaks again. “...sorry though. I’m just frustrated.”

“Yeah,” Hajime sighs. “It’s okay.”

Before he leaves for school the next day, Hajime searches up ‘Kageyama Tobio’ and clicks on the first video that comes up.

The music that fills his ears is perfect, every stroke, every beat, every note just right, yet it’s just not the same as when Oikawa plays it.

On a superficial level, anyone would enjoy it. But Hajime finds it unpleasant.

It’s yet another thing he will never admit to Oikawa.

* * *

**Iwa-chan:** hey are you free now

**Oikawa:** ohohohoho

**Oikawa:** iwa-chan it’s too early in the morning for this ⊙﹏⊙

**Oikawa:** plus a saturday? really? (＃｀д´)ﾉ

**Iwa-chan:** stfu you dont sleep anyway

**Iwa-chan:** get your ass outside in 5

**Iwa-chan:** kidnapping you

* * *

“You know, you don’t just leave evidence behind like that,“ Oikawa whispers as Hajime drags him down the street at five in the morning.

“Shut up, they’ll never know.”

”So are the aliens finally ready?”

“Hmm,” Hajime pauses, pretending to think. “The Neptune aliens are still waiting for the right time. The volleyball aliens, though? They’re hungry for human.”

“Gross. Iwa-chan, do you think aliens actually _eat_ humans?”

“Volleyball ones do.”

“Oho?” Oikawa grins. “Am I watching Iwa-chan play today?”

There’s a glint in Hajime’s eyes when he answers. “Even better.”

Oikawa doesn’t ask again, and the rest of their walk is spent in silence.

Mostly silence. Oikawa gets to experience ‘Iwa-chan getting mad at you for not eating and chucking food at your head’ first hand. He pays Hajime back with the ‘Oikawa complaining about his hair in the morning’ experience. It’s not that effective, though, and he only gets another light smack out of Hajime.

They enter Aobajohsai’s gymnasium an hour later, bickering with Hajime throwing the occasional jab to Oikawa’s side and the latter’s loud squeals.

“Oh? Captain’s late,” Matsukawa gasps. “And he brings us Closetkawa.”

“Closetkawa?” Hanamaki repeats, dropping an armful of balls onto the floor in shock. “No way. _The_ Closetkawa?”

“Iwaizumi-san?”

“Look what you’ve done, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki shakes his head. “Our dear little Kindaichi doesn’t need to see this.”

“Gym storage closet is off limits, by the way.”

“Matsukawa. Hanamaki. Laps.”

“You can’t do this to us.”

Hajime ignores the wide eyed looks he’s getting from the rest of the team and Oikawa. He cracks his knuckles, willing the insistent burning in his ears away. “You better start running.”

* * *

To the others, Hajime gives them a quick smile and pushes Oikawa inside.

“Ignore those two,” he says quietly before clearing his throat. “This is Oikawa. He’s a piece of shit but he’ll be joining us for practice today. Play nice. Don’t bite him. We don’t need a repeat of what happened with Yamamoto, Kyoutani.”

“Fucking deserved it.”

“What? You want to run laps too?”

“Nothing…”

By now, Oikawa has recovered from whatever initial shock he had gone through, and he’s gawking ungracefully at Hajime. “Iwa-chan! That is the most mean, rude, unflattering—.”

“Accurate.”

“—inaccurate, insulting way you could introduce someone as fabulous as me to your friends! And I’ll be joining you for practice? Since when?!”

“Oh, get over it, I’m sure you’ve had worse.”

“Mean! They’re going to eat me too, aren’t they?”

“Don’t worry. The volleyball aliens find you unappetizing,” Hajime deadpans.

“Well that makes things worse then.”

Watari opens his mouth to say something, and then makes the smart choice of reconsidering and closes it.

Yahaba opens his mouth and makes the very not-smart choice of questioning everything. “What the…”

Wrong move. Oikawa turns to the second year with a smile that promises nothing but pain and suffering. “Why hello there, Iwa-chan’s friend! I’m the great Oikawa-san, beautiful violinist extraordinaire. Who’re you?”

Hajime snorts at the sudden transformation. The other boy reverts back for a split second to stick his tongue out.

“...yes. Uh. Yahaba Shigeru. Setter.”

Oikawa blinks. “Setter?”

“What’s a guy like him doing here?” Kyoutani grumbles. “Oh god, is he like one of your fangirls, Iwaizumi-san?”

“No!” Oikawa huffs. “If anything, Iwa-chan should be _my_ fanboy. He’s already my biggest fan, right? Right, Iwa-chan?”

“Fuck off.”

“You love me,” he beams before his attention turns to Kindaichi, who’s standing to the side nervously. “Ooh, you’re tall? Who’re you?”

“Oikawa, stop bothering my underclassmen—.”

“Kindaichi Yuutarou!” 

Oikawa frowns at his over-earnest behavior. “Wait...how old are you?”

“First year in high school!”

“He’s the same age as Tobio,” he points out in disgust. “I don’t like him.”

“Oikawa, be nice.”

“I am, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa pouts as Kindaichi very indiscreetly tries to back away. “Right, Kindaichi?”

“Y—yeah.”

“Anyway, like I was saying. He’ll be joining us for practice today. But he’s an inexperienced, weak player, so go easy on him, okay?”

“Hey!”

“Treat him like a kid. He’s practically one anyway,” Hajime shrugs. He freezes. “Wait. Actually. Kunimi, don’t treat him like a kid. We don’t want a repeat of what happened at Little Tykes. I swear, you guys are a bunch of _rats_.”

Kunimi mutters something unintelligible and skulks away to the other side of the net.

Hajime rolls his eyes and claps his hands together loudly. “Okay, start warming up. You guys tell Oikawa what to do, I’m gonna go take care of the Team Idiots.”

Hanamaki laughs from where he’s flopped down in the corner with a towel draped over his face. “It pains me that you don’t consider yourself one of us. We’re _all_ idiots here.”

“Especially you, for bringing… what’s his name again? Oikawa? Closet Boy? Closetkawa?” Matsukawa drawls lazily. “Ah, yes, Closetkawa. How could I forget?”

“You two are insufferable,” Hajime grumbles, feeling a strangely strong case of deja vu.

“You love us.”

“I do?”

“Oh yes, you do. Very much, in fact.”

“Well can’t believe I forgot about that then.”

“How rude,” Matsukawa shakes his head before arching a brow. “So? Why’d you really bring him?”

“To give the kids someone else to attack for once?” Hajime tries, watching Oikawa get shoved around the court as the team tries to explain things to him.

“You sure?”

“He’s a dork who needs sunlight.”

“Iwaizumi, we play volleyball indoors.”

“Goddammit.”

“So?”

“Hm. I don’t know, he’s just been stressed lately, I guess. And you know. Volleyball, right?” he shrugs.

Hanamaki gives him a look. “Intelligent response. We can tell you’re a true scholar.”

“Get to work already. No more rest.”

“This is tyranny.”

But the two begin getting up anyway, slowly making their way to the others. Matsukawa grins over his shoulder. “So we just gotta help him get rid of all that stress, right?”

“Like that saying, right? Give him something else to worry about. I say we treat him like we treated those basketball assholes.”

“Makki, you’re a genius.”

Hajime rubs his eyes, not trusting the mischievous looks on their faces at all. “Just no biting. _Please_.”

* * *

“Ack. It hurts!” Oikawa whines for the upteenth time today as he shanks the ball. “Iwa-chan, you didn’t tell me I was going to die here.”

“Suck it up,” Hajime grunts as he spikes in his direction. Oikawa shrieks and ducks out of the way, and the ball slams into the ground next to him.

“Trying to kill me! See?”

“Careful, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki hoots. “You’ll break his fragile violinist arms clean off!”

“Makki, you hypocrite— ACK—.”

“Ooh, bullseye.”

“Mattsun!”

“What?” Matsukawa holds his hands up innocently. 

“Ah, you’re all brutes! No wonder Iwa-chan gets along with you!”

“For the record,” Hajime adds. “I don’t.”

“Oikawa-san, would you like me to teach you how to set?” Yahaba pipes up awkwardly.

“Set?”

“Yeah. Like… like this,” he demonstrates. “I just thought… well you have very nice hands.”

Oikawa staggers back and someone snickers. “What?” He fiddles with his fingers. “I mean, I _know_ I have very nice hands, but _what_?”

“Oh! I just meant. You have setter hands.” There’s a pause. The quiet snickering has become hysterical cackling. “Wait. I can see why that’s weird.”

“It’s okay, I get it a lot. I don’t mind,” Oikawa replies in the least humble way possible. “So what’s this setting thing again?” His eyes sparkle as he observes Yahaba carefully.

Oikawa has the same expression as when he’s on the stage, Hajime notes, even when he misses the ball and it smacks him straight in the face. There’s a certain intensity to him, nothing but concentration and—.

No. There’s something different. 

It’s small, but clear. A sense of childish excitement that seems to have followed Oikawa onto the court when it couldn’t to the stage, clinging stubbornly onto his t-shirt; no fancy lights or suits in sight, no judges to scrutinize every single movement he makes.

It’s pure. Genuine. Beautiful.

Hajime slaps himself. Physically this time.

Not even the stinging on his cheeks is enough to stop the fondness that grows inside him, the happiness that sprouts out from the seeds of Oikawa’s joy.

They practice for hours. Hajime treats everyone to ice cream afterwards and then walks Oikawa home, light laughter trailing behind them as they go.

* * *

“Say, Iwa-chan, do you think I could drop violin to play volleyball?”

“Huh? What kind of stupid question is that?”

They’re calling at a much more sensible time today, since Hajime has finals next week and needs to focus on studying and fixing his sleep schedule. It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon, a week after Hajime brought Oikawa to the gym.

“I mean. I could join your team, right? And I could be the setter. Ooh, Iwa-chan, we’d play together and I’d go to school with you and Makki and Mattsun and…” his voice trails off. 

“Don’t be ridiculous. As if you’d be able to replace Yahaba so easily.”

“Excuse you, Iwa-chan. He said I was a natural, didn’t you hear?”

“A natural at sucking, yeah.”

“Hey!”

“But you’re right,” Hajime muses quietly after a few more rounds of squabbling. “It would be nice.”

“See?”

“You’d probably complain about everything though. ‘Oh, everything hurts because I have no muscle.’ ‘Oh, no, my hair got ruined.’ ‘Oh, these fangirls are so annoying, it sucks to be popular.’ It would get annoying and I’d nail you in the head with a volleyball.”

“What? That’s so mean, Iwa-chan!”

“Look what I said, complaining already.”

“This is unfair! The great Oikawa-san demands the rightful respect that he deserves!”

“So none?”

“That’s it, Kindaichi’s my only friend now. I’ll excuse his _disgusting_ age.”

“Please, that’s just because he was the only one not attacking you.”

“A completely valid reason, if you ask me. I could have died, Iwa-chan.”

“Hm,” Hajime hums. “Oh yeah, how do your arms feel? Any bruising?”

“Oh my god, yes, they’re so sore.”

“I knew someone like you wouldn’t be able to handle it.”

“Hey, I’ll have you know that you hit _hard_ , okay? Geez, can’t believe those muscles of yours. You actually use them.”

“What’d you think they were for?” Hajime snorts. “But in all honesty, yeah, that’s normal, so don’t worry. You actually took them better than I thought you would.”

“Oh? Well, well, well, I see you’re admitting it too, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa croons. “I’m a natural, aren’t I?”

“I take it back, you narcissistic asshole.”

“No take backs!”

“Loserkawa.”

“Stop adding insults to my name!”

* * *

**Oikawa:** iwa-chan are you seeing this? (＃｀д´)ﾉ  
  


**_Oikawa_ ** _sent a picture_

**Oikawa:** HE HAS A WHOLE CONCERT JUST FOR HIM 

**Oikawa:** HES SO FAMOUS AND FOR WHY (｀皿´＃)

**Oikawa:** WTF ARE YOU SEEING THIS ((╬◣﹏◢))

**Iwa-chan:** its 2am didnt i tell you to i need to fix my sleep schedule this week

**Iwa-chan:** trashykawa stop getting mad at kageyama for being successful

**Oikawa:** iwa-chan you dont get it ヽ(≧Д≦)ノ

**Oikawa:** hes so annoying

**Oikawa:** why do people even like him 

**Iwa-chan:** chill

**Iwa-chan:** stop comparing yourself to him

**Iwa-chan:** youre great by yourself ok

**Iwa-chan:** music isnt a competition

**Oikawa:** im flattered but that thought process is for casuals

**Oikawa:** something an inexperienced neanderthal like you wouldnt understand (⇀‸↼‶)

**Iwa-chan:** go to sleep oikawa

**Oikawa:** you dont get it

**Iwa-chan:** dont forget to drink water and eat proper meals too

**Iwa-chan:** goodnight

* * *

“Hey, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki begins casually a few days later during lunch break. 

“Yeah?”

“Is something up with you and Oikawa?”

Hajime nearly chokes on his rice. “What?”

“Any fights? Unfortunate closet experiences?”

“No!” Hajime blurts loudly. A few heads turn and he mumbles out some apologies. “We haven’t… why would you even think that?”

“No offense,” Matsukawa adds, returning from his drink run. “But you’ve been really grumpy lately. Like _really_ grumpy. More than usual grumpy, which is.” His expression hardens. “Terrifying. But don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“What do you mean, I’ve been perfectly calm,” Hajime argues weakly, even as he very violently stabs his eggs with his chopsticks.

“Yeah, no,” Hanamaki shakes his head. “Oh, but get this. Oikawa’s been really grumpy too.”

“And how exactly would you know that?”

“We’ve been in contact,” Matsukawa shrugs. “Should have known. He just seems like the type of guy to spam kaomojis.”

“It’s okay, we spam him back with memes.”

Their palms meet in a solid high five and Hajime’s heart sinks.

“Wait, what?”

_(“This is going to be an Iwa-chan phone.”)_

“Yeah, so anyway, he’s been using only mad kaomojis and it’s so… how do I put this…” Hanamaki strokes his chin thoughtfully. “Annoying. I guess. Can you guys make up already? I don’t think my sleep schedule will survive those 3am texts.”

“Right? Does that guy ever sleep?”

Ah. So that’s what he does now that they no longer call every night.

Of course Oikawa has other friends. What was Hajime—.

He bangs his head against the desk and stays there until the bell rings.

* * *

Hajime has no idea what is wrong with him, but for some reason, his legs have carried him to Oikawa’s house.

Which, now that he actually stops to look at it from afar, is fucking _huge_.

He pauses at the front gates awkwardly. There’s soft music coming from the house, long and lethargic in some places and fast and energetic in others, smoothly connected together by swells in volume and arpeggios. 

It sounds just like Oikawa, with his rapidly changing ups and downs and highs and lows.

But sometimes, there’s a pause that lasts for a bit too long, the dragging of the bow in places that should be quick and upbeat. 

Then it stops completely, almost sadly, and Hajime takes that moment to ring the doorbell. The sound echoes and he can hear it from all the way outside.

Hajime regrets it immediately. He really needs better impulse control.

And better timing. The moment he turns around to bolt and potentially pull a ding-dong-ditch, or whatever people call it, the front door creaks open and Oikawa pokes his head out.

And Hajime, ever the fool, just stands there and stares. The volleyball that he’s hugging to his chest almost falls to the ground and rolls away, and he stumbles to catch it. 

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa gasps. He makes a show of pinching his forearm and lets out a pained yell. “Wait. You’re real?!”

“What else would this be?” Hajime grumbles, looking anywhere but the other’s eyes as he steps through the gates.

“A dream. A ghost.” He narrows his eyes suspiciously. “A Neptune alien in disguise. Hey, fake Iwa-chan, is it finally my time to go?”

And it should probably be uncomfortable or filled with angry tension between them. This is their first time going so long without speaking in months, after all. But Hajime still bursts out into a round of laughter at that, and the imaginary wall between them shatters.

It’s just so easy to fall back into routine with Oikawa. Like a metronome, their relationship is something constant and steady in their lives. 

Sometimes the beat might get thrown off, but they always, _always_ , end up back together, moving at the same pace, side by side.

They’re a well oiled machine, a king and his knight, a rushing river; nothing to stop them, always flowing. Inseparable. Unstoppable. Invincible. 

So Hajime grins, holding up the ball in his hands. “Volleyball?”

All plans to continue practice are out the window. Oikawa beams. “Sure, Iwa-chan.”

* * *

“Dumbykawa, you need to warm up first. Come on. _Stretch_.”

“No, I am not teaching you how to do a jump serve.”

“Get back over here, we’re doing passing drills.”

“Agh, be careful. If you hurt yourself I’ll smack you!”

“Your hands hurt? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? We are stopping right— no, we are not having this conversation, you dumbass. Stop that and get over here. Right now.”

“Oikawa, you’d better fucking stop that.”

“...are you not drinking water and eating proper meals.”

“How have you survived this long? You need to take breaks!”

“No, I don’t care that you need to practice— how do you even get away without any noise complaints with the hours you practice?”

“Your mom is on a business trip?”

“Get your ass into the kitchen, I’m teaching you how to make real food.”

* * *

Hajime ends up staying for dinner, and hastily sends a message to his parents that he’ll be staying the night too.

He learns a lot of things about Oikawa. Oikawa learns a lot of things about him.

Hajime’s biggest realization comes just as he begins to drift off with Oikawa’s voice droning on in the background. Warm bodies pressed together, back to back under the blanket because it’s cold and Hajime refuses to sleep on the floor with no guest futon provided.

It’s so much better in person. Hajime really wouldn’t mind going on forever like this, just the two of them, together.

* * *

He wakes up and maybe takes back his words.

Hajime’s neck hurts from sleeping without a pillow, the blanket had ended up being pulled off of him overnight, Oikawa has somehow turned over and has his arms wrapped around Hajime’s waist, and the dumbass drools in his sleep.

Gross.

(Adorable)

Hajime sighs when he realizes that he doesn’t really mind this either. Really, what is he getting himself into?

It’s still dark outside, but he gets up anyway. There’s no point staying in bed any longer, though that also means leaving the warmth of Oikawa’s arms. Hajime doesn’t hesitate, no, he refuses to let this ruin his morning routine. 

He scribbles out a quick note, sticks it on the other boy’s face for good measure, and goes out on a morning run, debating what to make for breakfast as he huffs out little puffs of white air.

* * *

Halfway through his jog, Hajime remembers that he turned his phone off to save power the day before and slows to a stop to check if anyone has tried to contact him.

He’s bombarded with over twenty missed calls from Oikawa, even more text messages from him, a good night text from his mom, and an incoming call from Hanamaki.

Who, on a normal day, would definitely _not_ be awake so early in the morning.

Hajime accepts the call immediately as he scrolls through his missed messages from Oikawa, an assortment of “Iwa-chan”’s, “where are you”’s, kaomojis, and whatever that guy has against Kageyama.

“Hanamaki?” he breathes out, turning around and speeding up so he can get back sooner.

“Hey, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki frowns. “So uh. You wouldn’t have anything to do with Oikawa screaming about you leaving him for someone called Tobio, would you?”

“Oh my god, what.”

“Really disappointed in you, man. Cheating? Are you serious?”

“Shut up.” Hajime turns the corner onto the quiet street.

“But yeah. He sounded pretty panicked, so you should probably check up on him?”

“On it already. Might be late to practice, bye.”

“Wait, what—.”

Hajime hangs up and hastily runs to the door before becoming painfully aware of the fact that he’s an idiot who didn’t consider bringing keys or any other way to get in.

He’s about to dig out his phone to call Oikawa back when the door slams open and something barrels into him, knocking the both of them to the ground.

“What—.”

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa wails, squeezing him tightly.

“What the— Oikawa, get off, I’m sweaty.”

“No.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“You’re the disgusting one! And mean! And— and rude and—!”

“Hanamaki called me,” Hajime interrupts, sitting up. Oikawa yelps at his sudden lack of balance and falls forward. “Did you really think I left you for Kageyama? We haven’t even met yet!”

He grabs onto the front of Hajime’s shirt tightly. “What else was I supposed to think? You were just gone!”

“I left a note! On your face!”

“Yes, that was very rude, by the way! And how was I supposed to know that wasn’t just an excuse?”

“Why would I use jogging as an excuse?”

“I don’t know, I just thought… you know,” Oikawa huffs. “Bad dream. And I had to deal with morning Makki, too! It was terrible.” He makes a face. “Let me tell you, that guy is not a morning person.”

Hajime chuckles at that, remembering all those times at training camp when they had to wake up before the sun was up. “Yeah, he’s really not.” But it’s also a good time to ask, so he continues, “You have Hanamaki’s number?”

“And Mattsun and Yahaba’s too. Look!” Oikawa proudly shows Hajime a phone— which looks completely different from the one he got him. “I got another one for them. The Iwa-chan phone is just for Iwa-chan, after all!”

It’s such a ridiculous thing to have been worried about, but Hajme still sighs in relief. “You idiot.”

He makes them pancakes for breakfast. And if Oikawa gets extra cream on his serving, neither of them mention it.

* * *

Just like what he said to Hanamaki, Hajime is late to practice. 

No one— not even the coaches— calls him out on it. Strange. Maybe Hanamaki gave them an actually convincing excuse for once?

“Iwaizumi-san,” Kindaichi stutters, apparently being sent out as cannon fodder once again as the cowards stare on from a safe distance away. “I, uh— are you— Hanamaki-san said— I mean—.”

“Yes, Kindaichi?”

“You— your— I didn’t know—.”

“Kindaichi,” Hajime asks, the textbook example of the word calm. “What did Hanamaki tell you?”

“Iwaizumi-san, you’re— you’re pregnant?” he squeaks, turning red.

Hajime blinks. “Huh?”

“Your— you know, like— you—.” 

“Oh. Uh. Yeah. Just give me a minute, Kindaichi,” Hajime says, absentmindedly pushing Kindaichi to the side gently. He cracks his knuckles.

“Wait, Iwaizumi, you should be the one thanking me, okay?” Hanamaki waves his hands in front of himself defensively. The others are slowly backing away, Matsukawa doing so after patting the poor guy on the back sympathetically. “Wait, wait! I’m sorry! Please don’t, please, Iwaizumi! I was trying to help, I swear— Iwaizumi!”

“Hanamaki Takahiro, what kind of excuse—.”

“I panicked okay!”

“Get your ass over here.”

_“Iwaizumi, no—.”_

“Must have been some night,” Matsukawa says loud enough for everyone to hear. “The poor closet, though.”

“Alright, you two aren’t leaving until you finish your laps.”

“Dude, can’t you come up with better punishments?” Hanamaki groans.

“Ten laps of diving drills.”

“Really?”

“Can’t blame him for being so angry today,” Matsukawa fake whispers. “It’s probably the mood swings, you know.”

“Ugh, get to work before I change that to twenty.”

* * *

**Oikawa:** iwa-chaaaaaan（*＾∀＾）)

**Iwa-chan:** what

**Oikawa:** oh!!! he replied Σ(☉ω☉ノ)ノ 

**Iwa-chan:** what is it shittykawa

**Oikawa:** rude!

**Oikawa:** but the great oikawa san will excuse that for now

**Iwa-chan:** what is it crappykawa

**Oikawa:** iwa-chan has a vball game soon right? (・∀・)

**Iwa-chan:** yeah the spring interhigh

**Oikawa:** i wanna go watch!!

**Oikawa:** pls

**Iwa-chan:** go ahead

**Iwa-chan:** we’ll show you the strength of a powerhouse school

**Oikawa:** ooh confident, i like it! ヾ(≧∀≦☆)

**Iwa-chan:** shut up

**Iwa-chan:** dont distract the other tho

**Oikawa:** dont worry, dont worry (◕‿◕) 

**Oikawa:** that one looks like an alien omg (☉∀☉)

**Oikawa:** (◕‿◕) 

**Oikawa:** (◕‿◕) 

**Iwa-chan:** go spam hanamaki or matsukawa

**Oikawa:** (◕‿◕) 

* * *

Hajime bites back a groan when he’s confronted just as he’s leaving the bathroom.

“Um, Iwaizumi-san! I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

Oh, it’s a bad time, alright—. “No, not at all.”

The confronter’s face lights up even as she hides behind her hands shyly. Goddammit.

“Oh. Okay. Um. I just want to say I made cookies for you— and the rest of the team, of course!” She offers him a small bag of sweets. “Good— good luck with your game today!”

And there it is. The first of many gifts from the volleyball club’s many supporters.

“Thanks,” Hajime accepts them awkwardly, cringing on the inside. Cookies are already pretty unhealthy, and especially before a match like this? Hopefully no one eats them before and gets cramps halfway.

Knowing the team, that’s just wishful thinking.

“Ah, and—.”

“Hey, Iwaizumi, the team’s looking for you!” Hanamaki interrupts, throwing a volleyball lightly at Hajime’s head. He catches it midair.

“Oh, okay,” Hajime calls back. “Sorry, got to go,” he says to the girl. She nods and hurriedly runs off, disappearing around the corner. 

“Holy shit, Mattsun was right,” Hanamaki gasps. He snatches a cookie. “You’re terrible, Iwaizumi. A real heartbreaker.”

“What are you talking about?” he frowns, yanking the bag back. “And no snacking on sweets before a game.”

“Nothing, mom.” But Hanamaki still elects to act oddly, pausing before they turn the corner and staring flatley at something in the opposite direction. Hajime follows his gaze and finds nothing.

He squints. “What is it?”

Hanamaki just shrugs and grabs him by the shoulders, herding him back to the stadium. “Nothing, nothing, really. Anyway, go on, now. How are we gonna win this without our captain?”

Hajime rolls his eyes and stomps ahead. Right. They’re here for a reason. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I need to use the bathroom. Go on ahead.”

* * *

They make it to the finals, where Ushijima scores a winning point off of Hajime in the final set.

Tears are shed. Hajime doesn’t stop looking down, as if staring hard enough will open up a hole in the ground for him to sink into and disappear forever.

It’s all his fault. If only he took another step forward, another leap, another few inches that would have made all the difference. If only he just scored a few more points, broke through a couple more blocks, actually scored a service ace, they wouldn’t have been shoved into that corner. If only… if only… 

What kind of captain is he? What kind of ace? What kind of upperclassman? 

He said he would bring them to Nationals. He had claimed it, with so much confidence, and all for what?

Hajime scrubs at his eyes furiously as they leave. Why is he crying when it was all his—.

“Iwa-chan…”

No. No, not him. No, _why_ him? No, no, not—.

Hajime refuses to meet Oikawa’s eyes, tries to push past him, but slender fingers wrap around his wrist and he stops. Warmth envelops him, comforting, supportive, and the dam breaks.

The others look away politely, sniffling quietly by themselves.

“You were so awesome, Iwa-chan,” Oikawa says softly. “So, so, awesome.”

“Shut up…”

“I mean it! You guys practically won! It’s not your fault that the other team aren’t humans. And— what was his name? Ushi— Ushiwaka?” He makes a face. “Yeah, Ushiwaka, that guy was so lame! So boring! Everyone was watching you, not him.”

“Yeah, no, that was just you,” Hajime snorts, shifting in Oikawa’s hold but not moving away. “And it’s Ushijima, you dumbass.”

“Ushijima, Ushiwaka, same thing,” Oikawa quips. “And it’s true! Iwa-chan’s so—.” He hesitates, only for a second, and if Hajime was in a better position he would definitely call him out on it. “Iwa-chan’s so popular. So many people were cheering for you.”

“Yeah, and look how that turned out,” Hajime huffs bitterly. “Strength of a powerhouse school, my ass. That was probably pathetic to watch, wasn’t it?”

“Iwa-chan, are you not listening to me? That was awesome, I swear!”

“You’re just saying—.” 

The sound of Hajime’s stomach growling interrupts him and he hangs his head again. 

Watari takes this moment to pipe in. “Why don’t we go get some ramen? Coach’s treat. For a job well done.” His eyes are watering but he’s still smiling brightly.

“Or,” Hanamaki adds shakily. “We could stuff ourselves with all of those cookies from, you know,” he winks, “the _whole_ team’s supporters.”

Oikawa perks up, but his expression falls immediately when he reaches into his pocket for something that apparently isn’t there anymore.

“Oh, yeah! I’m sure some of those girls are super good at baking!”

“Yeah, meanwhile, Oikawa’s not very good at baking,” Hanamaki smirks knowingly. He pulls out a small bag. “But he _is_ our Iwa-chan’s biggest fan, isn’t he?”

Oikawa gapes at him. Hajime narrows his puffy eyes. “Don’t call me Iwa-chan.”

“Okay, okay, Iwaizumi. Have these wonderful cookies that your closet friend made you.”

“Makki!” Oikawa squeaks as Hajime accepts the bag tentatively.

“Didn’t know you could bake,” he murmurs as he loosens the string tied around the top.

“Trust me, he doesn’t.”

“Mattsun, not you too!”

It’s the truth. Even calling the concoctions in the bag “cookies” is a stretch.

Much to Oikawa’s horror, and Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s amusement, Hajime eats one anyway.

He spits it out immediately, and the expressions on their faces only get more extreme when he bites out a quiet, “tasty.”

“Iwa-chan!!”

They head to the ramen place that the club members frequently visit after practice, dragging Oikawa along with them despite his protests.

“Okay, let’s not get too full yet,” Yahaba begins, laughing awkwardly when most of them have finished their bowls of noodles. “We actually have something else for dessert!”

“Oh?” Matsukawa looks up from his bowl curiously. “Does our future captain have fans of his own too?”

Kyoutani snorts. “As if.”

“Hush, Kyoutani. We all know you’re his biggest fan,” Watari teases.

“Anyway!” Kindaichi exclaims before another argument can take place. “Here!”

It’s a fairly large white box that opens up to a cake decorated in white and teal frosting. On it, written messily in gold, are the words “thank you.”

Hajime’s chopsticks clatter against the floor. Matsukawa gapes at it. Hanamaki’s eyes widen. “Wait, you guys can’t just—.”

“Iwaizumi-san, Matsukawa-san, Hanamaki-san,” they shout in unison, cutting him off. “Thank you for these past few years!”

There are tears again, sobs of sadness and happiness that no one can tell apart anymore, and more muffled “thank you”’s. 

“You guys,” Hajime chokes out. “All that muscle is going to be replaced by fat soon.”

“It’s okay,” Kindaichi wails. “You can just make us run laps later.”

“I’m not captain anymore. Yahaba will have to do it.”

“Oh my god, don’t remind us.”

“You were the best captain we’ve ever had, Iwaizumi-san!”

“Please stop, I’m already crying.”

As the second and first years hurry to cut the cake, Oikawa takes Hajime’s hand in his and squeezes comfortingly. “See? You’re the best captain they could ever ask for. No one blames you, alright?”

“Oikawa, not you too,” Hajime groans. He _just_ stopped crying.

Oikawa shakes his head stubbornly. “It’s the truth and you know it.”

The conversation stops there. They remain hand in hand for the rest of the evening, through the confused laughter and profuse apologies when they realize one of them accidentally mistook salt for sugar when making the batter, through the lighthearted “bye”’s and “see you tomorrow”’s that also carry a sort of weight to them, and through the long walk back to Oikawa’s house past dimly lit streets and dark playgrounds.

Hajime stays the night again. They watch some shitty alien movies. Oikawa plays a song for him. Hajime cries some more.

He falls asleep to music, soft and delicate, flowing gently with a sense of freedom and tranquility that he doesn’t think has ever been there before. 

* * *

“Hey, Iwa-chan.”

“Hm?”

“I have another really important competition next month. So this is going to be the last time we see each other for a while.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah.”

“Just remember to take breaks, okay? And drink water. Proper meals, too. I don’t want you skipping or deciding that those disgusting instant noodles are proper food.”

“Really. Iwa-chan, are you my mom?”

“Go back to sleep, Dumbasskawa.”

* * *

True to Oikawa’s words, their nightly calls come to another full stop, daily texts are reduced to only a few per week, and all plans to meet up are cancelled.

It’s fine, though. Hajime is confident that the distance won’t be able to change anything.

Instead, he focuses on taking more shifts for his part time job, seeing how he has more than enough free time and a need for extra money now.

* * *

The concert venue is packed, and suddenly, Hajime feels heavily underdressed in his hoodie and sweatpants. 

That doesn’t deter him, though. He’s here to see Oikawa and only Oikawa, and there’s no way he’d dress up in some fancy outfit for that guy.

The lights of the auditorium are still bright, proudly illuminating the grand stage in the front and velvety seats surrounding it. It’s so different from what he’s used to; no squeaky polished floors and loud crowds here, no one else on the stage with you except the accompanist, no scoreboard to determine the winner, a group of judges in its place.

It’s so foreign, and that’s fine, because that’s just what Oikawa is, isn’t it? Something strange, new and far off, exciting even. Something that forces Hajime out of his comfort zone, holding his hand along the way in some parts and shoving him forward roughly in others.

Hajime lets the quiet background noise wash over him as he checks the program in the pamphlet that he picked up back in the lobby. Oikawa Tooru is fifth in the roster, after someone named Akaashi Keiji and before none other than Kageyama Tobio.

Hajime presses his lips together in a thin line. Well. This is going to be… interesting, to say the least.

* * *

The first few contestants pass by in a blur, but it’s still too long of a wait for Hajime.

In the end it’s worth it, though, when he catches sight of Oikawa striding onto the stage, followed by a thundering applause from the audience.

He’s breathtaking, with his slicked back hair and sharp black suit, shiny matching shoes and piercing eyes. Hajime has probably seen him like this a hundred times from a screen, but to actually witness something like this in person?

It’s yet another part of Oikawa that has come as a surprise, putting an abrupt yet comforting stop to the easily predictable routine that they had unintentionally put in place. Carved into stone, something they thought would never change, but now erosion comes along with a new set of words and ideas.

The violinist doesn’t notice him— of course not, Oikawa’s focus is solely on the competition, and Hajime’s all the way in the back anyway. Hajime watches him closely, though. Nothing escapes his uncanny ability to read the other like an open book.

And Oikawa may look perfectly calm and confident on the outside as he bows and sets the instrument on his shoulder, but Hajime already knows that something is wrong.

He doesn’t know how to explain it; it’s just… a slight shift in expression, in motion, a brief moment of hesitation, _something_ , something is different and it’s not good.

He can only sit there helplessly as the lights dim and the first, slow notes of the piano ring through the air, as the hairs of the bow come in contact with the strings.

Hajime’s right. He’s right, and it’s terrible. Note after note fills his ears, and it’s suffocating, muffled. Too perfect yet horrible at the same time, _wrong_.

The audience is enraptured by it. No one else notices.

He’s the only person who sees the cracks forming before it happens.

And even then, it’s too late.

There’s a short pause, a sharp intake of breath. A flick of his wrist follows, but no sound comes out.

No, that’s not right either. A sound does come out, from the bow clattering against the floor and its hairs bursting upon impact.

Hajime doesn’t wait any longer. He swears quietly under his breath and shouts loud “excuse me”’s as he elbows his way into the aisle to get to the stage.

Hajime’s only a few feet away when the violin itself smashes to the ground and Oikawa goes down with it.

He doesn’t get back up after that.

* * *

Hajme has gone through a lot of moments of panic in his life.

Falling from that tall tree in the backyard when he was seven. Forgetting his pencil case at home the day of his entrance exam. Waking up late on his first day of highschool. Somehow losing his knee pads at his first Interhigh. Not knowing about a big test until a few hours before.

The list can go on and on. But the point is, he’s never felt his heart pounding in his ears like it is now as he paces in the lobby of the hospital. Ironically, or maybe in a cruel twist of fate, it’s the same one where he and Oikawa first met so long ago.

It’s been almost an hour and still, no one will fucking tell him what’s going on.

Maybe Hajime should just break into Oikawa’s room. 

_Now if only he knows where it is._

Fortunately, Hajime doesn’t have to wait for much longer. Not so fortunately, his savior comes in the form of a painfully familiar man in a suit.

Shit. It’s the teacher.

Maybe he can still jump out the window—.

“Ah, um. You! In the blue hoodie.”

Yeah, no, what was he thinking?

“Yeah?” Hajime stammers out, not even bothering to hide his nerves at this point.

The man walks up to him, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “You must be ‘Iwa-chan’, right?”

“...is that what Oikawa calls me when talking to others…?”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then.” He clears his throat and sticks out a hand. “Mizoguchi Sadayuki. Oikawa-kun talks about you a lot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Hajime flushes and takes his hand firmly. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Are you here to see Oikawa-kun? He should be out of surgery in a bit. I can try to get you in.”

“Surgery?”

“Ah. Yeah, he fell on his arm. Broke it,” Mizoguchi grimaces. “He’ll be out of commission for a while. Really, this is the second time this year that he’s broken something, that boy.”

“Is he… is he okay?”

A pause. “Should be. Apparently he just fainted because he hasn’t been taking care of his body well enough.”

Of course. That absolute moron, always overworking himself.

“Right…”

“Well,” Mizoguchi gives him a small smile. “I need to go now, but I’ll come get you when you’re allowed to go in, okay?”

Hajime wants to protest, wants to go in and see Oikawa right now, rules and regulations be damned. But instead, he just bites his lip and nods shakily. “Okay. I’ll wait out here then.”

* * *

Two hours and about a hundred replies to worried texts later, Mizoguchi comes back into the lobby and Hajime finds himself sitting uncomfortably next to Oikawa’s older sister because apparently, their mother is still out of the country on that business trip.

  
Oikawa’s laying on the bed in front of them, unconscious and much paler than Hajime thought was ever possible. His hair, although tousled, somehow still falls in neat curls, shifting slightly with every rise and fall of his chest.

His left arm is back in a white cast. Hajime has to physically stop himself from reaching out and cupping Oikawa’s uninjured hand gently, giving him a comforting squeeze that he might not even notice, just to let the other know that he’s here.

The sister is here, watching. And from the looks of it, him quite literally slapping his own arm did not go past her.

She raises a brow. “So you’re the infamous Iwa-chan, huh.”

“Oh my god, is that all he calls me?”

“Yeah, it’s always Iwa-chan this, Iwa-chan that,” she chuckles. “So your name’s _not_ Iwa-chan?”

“No! It’s Iwaizumi,” Hajime corrects pointedly with a cough. “Iwaizumi Hajime.”

“Oh? Well I’ll just call you Hajime, then.”

“I mean…”

“Nice to meet you, I’m Oikawa Riko, the better and favorite Oikawa,” Riko grins. “Thanks for looking out for Tooru all the time. I know he can be a real bother.”

Something in Hajime’s heart clenches. He glances to the side, “That wasn’t enough though.”

Riko follows his gaze and hums quietly. “Well. Can’t be helped, this brat has the self preservation instincts of a horror movie protagonist.”

“But without all the plot armor.”

“Without all the plot armor,” she agrees, expression softening. “You really don’t need to worry. And feel free to chew him out when he wakes up, he needs it.”

“Mhm.”

* * *

Oikawa’s eyes flutter open after another hour or so of waiting. 

It’s a messy ordeal. His brain is still muddled, his eyes are hazy, and he looks at Hajime like he’s the best thing in the world.

That by itself is disconcerting, and Riko pulling out her phone in a fit of snickers doesn’t help.

“Iwa-chan?” Oikawa mumbles, words slurred. “Iwa-chan?!”

“Yeah?”

His face lights up and a wide smile spreads on his face. “Iwa-chan!”

“Yeah…?”

“Iwa-chan, what’re you doing here?”

“Uh… to visit you. You fell.” 

“Fell?” Oikawa parrots. Only now does he notice the state that his arm is in. “My arm! Iwa-chan, my arm!”

“Yeah, uh, your arm,” Hajime says helplessly. 

“It’s…” Oikawa furrows his brow. “It’s weird.”

“Uh huh. You fell on it.”

“Iwa-chan, make it better!”

“I… I can’t…?”

“You can!” he pouts. “Please? A get well kiss?”

“I— Oikawa, what—,” Hajime sputters. He glares at the camera pointed his way. “No, you’ll only get better if you rest.”

“But Iwa-chan! Prince Charming did it and the princess got better, right?”

“And I’m saying we can’t!” Hajime groans. He’s fighting a losing battle, isn’t he? “Your sister’s here.”

“My sister?” 

“Yes, your sister. And your teacher’s outside too.”

“My teacher?”

“Yeah, he was the one that let me in.”

Oikawa frowns. “Well I don’t like my teacher.”

“O— oh?”

“He’s mean. And not nice mean, like Iwa-chan.”

“Is that so?”

“And he gets mad at me for staying up late. Doesn’t want me calling Iwa-chan, which is,” he makes a face, trying to find the proper word. “Mean. I like talking to Iwa-chan. I like Iwa-chan. Hey, hey, do you know Iwa-chan?”

If Hajime didn’t want to be swallowed up into the void before, he does now. 

Oikawa apparently takes his silence as a no. “Well I know Iwa-chan,” he continues proudly. “And I love Iwa-chan.”

“Oh my god.” Riko is straight up cackling at this point. Hajime really should have known the well established fact that all Oikawas are little menaces.

“Oikawa, what—.”

He’s already back asleep, peaceful as if he hadn’t just destroyed the last of Hajime’s brain cells and will to live. 

“He loves Iwa-chan, huh,” Riko smirks, pausing the recording.

“Uh…”

“You can’t do it because his sister is here,” she goes on, unfazed by his embarrassment. “It’s just a get well kiss, right? Don’t be shy, just pretend I’m not here.”

_“Oh my god.”_

* * *

The second time Oikawa wakes up, he’s at least a little more coherent than before.

He’s still in a state of disarray, though, and lets out a confused squawk when he sees Hajime. “Iwa-chan?”

“Uh, hi—?”

“What are you doing here? What happened?” Oikawa’s eyes shoot around the room. “Did I fall asleep? I can’t! I need to perform!”

“Oikawa, calm down.”

He does the complete opposite of that when he notices his arm again. “Iwa-chan, my arm!”

“Yeah, I know, but you need to—.”

“I can’t do anything like this!” Oikawa cries— oh no, those are actual tears on his face. “I can’t do anything, and Tobio’s gonna come and steal everything.”

By now, the noise has gotten Riko’s attention, and she rushes back into the room. “Tooru?”

“See, your sister’s here now, so—.”

“And I can’t even marry Iwa-chan anymore!”

“What.”

“Oh, have I come in at a bad time?”

“Wait, what.”

“Iwa-chan doesn’t want to marry me anymore,” Oikawa wails, ignoring them. “He doesn’t want someone who keeps getting hurt.”

“No, I, uh,” Hajime coughs into his fist. “I— I would. Marry you. I would. Uh…”

“Oh, so I _am_ interrupting something.”

“Then kiss me.”

A beat of silence.

“Yeah, okay,” Riko sighs, walking over. “Save that for when you’re awake awake.”

“But Iwa-chan’s so handsome.”

“Uhhhh…”

“And this handsome man said he’d marry you, already, right? Go back to sleep now.”

“But—.”

“Tooru, my complete dumbass of a brother, I love you, but go to sleep.”

* * *

At some point, Hajime exits the room to get some fresh room.

It’s pretty obvious that it isn’t his choice, but even he is mature enough to admit that it’ll help cool his head. 

His legs bring him all around the hospital in a futile attempt to find the exit and in the end, he finds himself pausing in the middle of a hall instead when someone familiar catches his eye.

“Um…”

Ah.

Kageyama Tobio.

“Do you know where room 720 is?”

Right.

Hajime gives him a small smile. “Ah, sorry. They’re not letting anyone else in to see him.”

Kageyama blinks. “Oh. Okay.”

“You’re here to visit him, though, right?” Hajime looks up (Up! How is a violinist taller than a volleyball player anyway?) at the younger boy.

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice of you. I can just let him know, if that’s okay.”

“That’s good. And maybe… well. An apology?”

“It’s not your fault,” Hajime reassures immediately.

(“It’s not my fault either,” his brain whispers, but it’s somehow not as convincing)

“Uh. Yeah. Thanks.”

“Take care. Congratulations on getting to the next round, too.”

Kageyama blushes. “Thank you.”

They exchange nods and head their separate ways.

It turns out that they ended up bumping into each other in front of a very familiar hospital storage closet that has been left open once again. It stares at him, door creaking quietly as it sways back and forth, taunting, mocking.

Hajime shakes his head and turns around.

* * *

When he nears Oikawa’s room, Hajime catches a soft conversation coming from inside and his heart skips a beat.

He pauses by the door instead of throwing it wide open immediately, though.

It’s muffled, but he can hear Riko’s voice, Mizoguchi’s, and…

Oikawa.

“...broke your instrument too. Tooru, do I need to babysit you everytime mom is away like I did before?” The teasing lilt is gone now. Without it, Riko sounds tired.

“Sis—.”

“Oh, you gave us all such a scare. And your friend! You should’ve seen it, he jumped onto the stage and picked you up like you weighed nothing.”

“Wh— what?”

“Yeah, your Iwa-chan’s quite something.”

“Iwa-chan? So he was actually here?”

“Oh yeah, he’s been here for a while. Ooh, look what I got on camera!”

There’s a few quiet minutes and then Oikawa screeching indignantly for his sister to turn it off.

That’s his cue. Hajime knocks on the door lightly and cracks it open. “Yeah— stop screaming, geez— I’m here.”

“Iwa-chan!” 

“Hey,” he waves and enters awkwardly. Riko looks way too smug, and Mizoguchi’s face is just unamused.

Oikawa gapes at him, face red. “Iwa— Iwaizumi. I’m so sorry, oh god.”

Riko rolls her eyes and pats him gently on the shoulder. She gestures to herself and Mizoguchi, “We’ll step out now, then. Have fun, and remember what I said, Hajime. Feel free to chew him out.”

“Right.”

“Wait, what? That’s mean!”

“And would you look at that, you deserve it.” Riko sticks her tongue out before the door slams shut and they’re left in uncomfortable silence.

“So,” Oikawa says, looking down. “You were there?”

“Wanted to surprise you,” Hajime shrugs. “How are you feeling?”

“Would you believe me if I said fine?” Oikawa tries. Hajime raises a brow, unimpressed, and he sighs, “Could be better.”

“No shit.”

“Out of all the other bones in my body, why is it always my left arm?” Oikawa huffs. “I’d rather take a broken leg, thank you very much.”

Hajime scowls. “How about no broken bones at all, huh?”

His overpowering relief is fading now, being replaced by his irritation and frustration as Oikawa hangs his head guiltily. “How about you actually eat and drink and _rest_ instead of overworking yourself? Ever thought about that?”

“I know,” Oikawa mumbles in response. “I know I screwed up, okay? Isn’t it obvious? My hand is a mess, my _violin_ is _broken_ — I can’t practice for two months, maybe more! Do you know how much a genius like Tobio can improve in two months? How much I can fall behind because I’m incompetent and—.”

“And I keep telling you! Stop comparing yourself to others,” Hajime growls. “So what if Kageyama’s a genius? So what if he’s better? You play beautifully, Oikawa, nothing can change that!”

“You just don’t get it.”

“Really.”

“Yeah, really. Who cares if I play beautifully or whatever, I couldn’t even make it past the first round!”

“Because you fucking fainted on stage, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“And the next time I compete it’ll be the same, and you know what excuse I’ll have? Nothing! Something pathetic like, oh, I broke my arm and didn’t practice for _two whole months_. Do you have any idea how bad this looks to the public?”

“Who cares what the public thinks?”

“I do! My future career does!”

“Well fuck that, are you saying you should practice and make things worse for a future career that won’t even come?” Hajime’s on his feet now, fists clenched at his side, no longer able to contain himself by just sitting in the chair. “Because at this rate you’ll probably never play violin again.”

“Well good, then.” Oikawa is suddenly quiet, as if exhausted from all the screaming earlier. “Not like I’d succeed at it anyway.”

“Holy— Oikawa, are you not listening to anything I’m saying?”

“Are you listening to anything _I’m_ saying?”

“Don’t you dare pull that on me, you—.”

“It’s the truth, anyway! Your unrefined ears probably think everything I play is beautiful and so amazing. _Everyone else_ thinks that, but I know. It’s ugly. Nothing sounds pretty anymore and I hate it.”

“That’s not—.”

“And I used to think it’s the only thing I can do, but look at that! Turns out I just suck at everything,” he bites out bitterly. “And everyone will know soon, so what’s the point of trying anymore?”

“...”

“It feels so… so bad to play anything now,” Oikawa finishes almost in a whisper. “It’s like I can’t breathe, like I’m trapped somewhere, and it’s _terrible_ , Iwa-chan. And I do try to fix it! But perfecting a piece only makes things worse and I— I just. Can’t play anymore.” He drapes his right hand over his face. “Not like Iwa-chan can understand. I bet you can do anything. You’re smart and talented and everyone likes you and you probably even have a girlfriend and when you realize I’m not popular anymore, you’ll… you won’t want to be my friend anymore.”

A beat passes as the words settle in both of their minds. And then Hajime physically recoils, stumbling back and knocking his chair over. Oikawa’s eyes widen, filling with as much shock as Hajime feels. He opens his mouth again but he beats him to it.

“So. That’s what you think of me?”

“Iwa-chan, I—.”

“Then I guess I’ll just leave you now that you’re failing, huh.” He can feel his eyes burning but he continues anyway. “Since I’m that kind of person.”

“Iwa— Hajime—.”

“Goodbye, Oikawa.”

Hajime can’t even recognize his own voice at this point, too muddled by unshed tears and thick with emotion, too quiet and meek, defeated, sad.

It leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Feel free to delete my number. Since, you know, we’re no longer friends.”

He slams the door and, ignoring the concerned questions from Riko and dirty looks sent his way by the hospital staff, Hajime runs. He runs until he can’t run anymore, and then he cries, cries until he runs out of tears.

Hajime deletes the contact information of Oikawa Tooru and drags himself home without looking back.

The metronome has split into two, one moving faster than the other while the other always remains ten beats behind. Separated, at different paces. Unpredictable. Apart. _Broken_.

The machine is no longer well oiled and working smoothly. The knight has turned his back on his king, who lays unmoving in a pool of crimson by his feet. The river splits, and both flows come to a stop when they come across a large boulder in their way.

Yeah. What was he thinking, anyway? Nothing ever goes right in Iwaizumi Hajime’s life. What made him think Oikawa was any different?

* * *

“You _what_.”

“Okay, you pretended Yahaba didn’t exist for two weeks because he forgot your birthday, you do _not_ get to judge me on this.”

“He forgot Cookie’s birthday,” Kyoutani corrects with a grumble.

“Right. Your dog. The point still stands.”

“Look, at least I didn’t get rid of any and all ways to contact him.”

“Kyoutani, I might not be your captain anymore, but respect your upperclassman.”

“I _do_ respect you, Iwaizumi-san,” he deadpans. “I just don’t respect your _very_ dumb, _very_ shitty life decisions.”

“Ugh, I get it,” Hajime sighs, resting his head on his knees. “He probably never wants to talk to me again. Kyoutani, what do I do?”

“And as much as I respect you, why are you asking _me_ for relationship advice?”

“Relationship— no, wait, we’re just friends! Friends.”

“Right.”

Hajime pauses. “Why do you sound so disappointed?”

“I owe Yahaba, Kunimi, and Hanamaki-san 500 yen.”

“Wait, were you betting on us—?”

“Anyway,” Kyoutani cuts him off, raising a brow in a way too judgemental manner. “What are you gonna do about it? Wait until he calls you? Go to his house? Break into it and kidnap him?”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know, does he even still have my number saved?”

“That guy has a whole phone just for you.”

“Oh shit, what if he burns it? That thing was expensive.”

“Well. Worst comes to worst, just slam him into a wall somewhere. Worked for me.”

“Kyoutani, I hate to break it to you, but not everyone’s like you and Yahaba.”

“Sucks for you guys, then.”

* * *

After a day of pointed looks from the majority of the team, Hajime is back in the comfort of his room, fresh out of the shower and waiting for a call that he later realizes will never come.

Well.

Now he has too much free time. But at what cost?

Grumbling to himself, Hajime pulls his laptop onto his lap and plugs his headphones in. He jolts up when music blasts through his ears and hastily lowers the volume. Ugh. He left the playlist on.

_Oikawa Tooru: Concerto for Two Violins, Bach_ continues playing softly. He looks much younger in this, probably around ten or eleven, dipping his head and bobbing along to the piece.

“Amazing. Charming. Stunning,” Hajime’s mind supplies.

“Ugly,” the Oikawa living rent free in his brain corrects.

“Shut up,” the slap to his face hisses.

Hajime groans. He must be going insane.

The lull of the violin in the background comes to a slow stop, and then resumes a few seconds later, brighter, lighter. 

It’s full of life, energy, a sense of childish excitement. Pure. Genuine. Beautiful, everything he loves, something that screams “look at me, aren’t I amazing? Isn’t this pretty?”

The only other time Hajime has heard something like this is that first time Oikawa stepped onto the court, ball in hand, laughter carrying nothing but mirth and cheer, happiness so strong that he could somehow see it in the air around him.

Hajime always thought it just was a one time spur of the moment thing, but here it is again, muffled through the screen and old camera, but _here_.

But that’s that thing. It’s never been here, through any of Oikawa’s performances and practices, before. Not even on those quiet nights when he would play a lullaby for Hajime to fall asleep to, probably the least artificial he has ever heard him.

Until now.

Hajime frowns, pausing the video. He rewinds it to the beginning, presses play, and it washes over him. He’s not mistaken, this is _different_ , and it’s a good different. 

He skims through the next few videos until he finds the one where it vanishes with the lights that dim in Oikawa’s eyes.

In just one year, something had changed.

Hajime moves to his desk, sitting up straight as his eyes scan over more and more tabs and videos.

Well. At least he’s used to staying up late.

* * *

The appearance of a young, promising star, a genius with abilities beyond his years. Shining brighter with more potential than Oikawa himself could ever have, the judges had said.

His first competition, a quick rise to the top. 

His first public appearance. Before that, he had been completely unknown, and it only caused his popularity to boom even more.

The first time Oikawa had failed to make it to the finals, when violin stopped being a fun hobby, and, if the tired swaying during his next performance is anything to go by, when he had begun overworking himself, practicing every second that he could manage without rest.

Kageyama Tobio.

Of course.

_“Nothing I play sounds pretty anymore.”_

How could it, when he had gotten rid of everything that made it beautiful?

* * *

Six hours later, on a gloomy Sunday morning, Hajime has a plan.

It’s already light outside when Hanamaki finally picks up the phone.

“Iwaizumi,” he grumbles. “I love you, but you’re gonna get your phone privileges revoked if you keep—.”

“Hanamaki. You play piano, right?”

“Huh?”

“Piano. You play, right?”

“Dude, you call me at— at like seven in the morning and for what? Piano?”

“Well do you?”

“Is this some kind of extra way for you to find a way to apologize to Oikawa?” Hajime cringes. That’s exactly what this is. “Leave me out of it, oh my god, can’t you two just say sorry like normal people?”

“No. So anyway, do you?”

“Yes, maybe? Used to play to get out of recorder lessons. Can I go back to sleep now?”

“Okay, cool. I’ll call you later then.”

“Please don’t.”

“And it’s seven already. Get your ass outside and exercise.”

“Goodnight, mom.”

“You’d better pick up later.”

He’s very rudely hung up on and it’s back to waiting.

* * *

“No,”

“What, why?”

Hanamaki scowls from where he’s sitting cross legged on his bed, morning grumpiness apparently not gone even after five hours of extra sleep. “No. This is ridiculous. I am— I am not teaching you piano _just_ so you can get your man back.”

“That’s not what I’m trying to do here.”

“Aw, I think it’s kinda sweet,” Matsukawa says, spinning around lazily on Hanamaki’s chair. “Maybe I should learn violin to woo you sometime.”

“Can’t believe you two broke into my house and woke me up for this.”

“You weren’t picking up,” Hajime defends with a grumble.

“We brought cake,” Matsukawa adds.

“Iwaizumi, is this my punishment now that you can’t get us to do laps?” Hanamaki moans. “What did I do this time? Is this revenge? Can’t I just clean the gym with my toothbrush or something?”

“Ooh, ooh, how about we do group lessons?” Matsukawa proposes with a grin. “You’ll be our teacher. Mr. Hanamaki. Mr. Makki.”

“Mattsun, I don’t know how you play volleyball, but you have the hand eye coordination of a donkey.”

“Hey, donkeys probably have great hand eye coordinations.”

“I’ll buy you creampuffs,” Hajime interrupts desperately. “So please?”

Hanamaki narrows his eyes. “Three months worth.”

“Three months worth of creampuffs,” he amends immediately.

The expression on Hanamaki’s face becomes smug, and he looks like himself again. “Well since you asked so nicely, let’s get you and closet boy back together.”

Oh, the things Hajime goes through for Oikawa.

* * *

Hajime pays for his developing beginner skills and mediocre lessons with cream puffs and the last remnants of his patience and sanity.

Unfortunately, he _did_ bring this onto himself, so there’s no getting out of it.

And he _is_ grateful for all of Hanamaki’s help, but that doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to get frustrated when he messes up for the hundredth time that day and a crumpled up piece of paper is pelted at his head to let him know. 

“Ugh, _I know_.”

Hanamaki merely shrugs in response and high-fives Matsukawa, the provider of the dreadful paper balls. 

“Maybe you should be a better student.”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder, then.”

“Hanamaki—.”

“Are you and Oikawa still fighting?” Matsukawa pipes up, ripping another page from his old notebook. “It’s been, what, a month already?”

“Oh, they aren’t even talking. Lover boy here trying to serenade him so they can fall in love again in the most extra way there is possible.”

“I’m right here—.”

“At least Iwaizumi’s not buying him the whole Skytree to propose in.”

“Ah, true. Wait, are you sure he isn’t?”

Hajime rolls his eyes and presses his fingers onto the smooth white keys of the piano. The sheet music of _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_ that Hanamaki managed to salvage from his old box of books sits innocently in front of him. The stars with terrifyingly happy faces at the top left corner grin as he glances down to look at his hands every few seconds.

Soon enough, the other two fall silent and music fills the room.

* * *

He gets better. Eventually.

They have to stop lessons for the time being to prepare for exams.

Kageyama places first at the Miyagi prefecture’s local Winter Competition.

There’s still no word from Oikawa. Yahaba catches Hajime in the hallway one day to assure him that Oikawa is fine, so he leaves it at that. It’ll be okay.

In a few months, he’ll fix everything.

* * *

Hajime finds that his fingers itch to dance along the black and white keys of a piano whenever he’s doing something else. The need to practice, to get lost in the flow of a serene melody or tune that’s been stuck in his head all day keeps clawing at the back of his mind.

So this is how Oikawa always feels.

No. That’s not quite right either. The urge for Oikawa is stronger, yet less driven by interest and more so by the need to do something, the need to get better.

Hajime sighs, scribbling something at the bottom of his paper. As tempting as it is, he has more pressing matters to worry about at the moment.

* * *

Graduation is a mess of tears and laughter and spiking balls into each other’s faces one last time despite the fact that they’re very much not dressed appropriately for sports. 

The air outside is still slightly cool, not yet embracing the warmth of spring. Hajime shoves his hands into his pockets as he, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa stroll around campus, away from the overwhelming crowds of parents, underclassmen, and graduates alike.

“So,” Matsukawa starts. “This is it, huh.”

“Don’t, we already got enough of that from everyone else,” Hajime reminds with a groan. “I might actually cry this time. Don’t test me.”

Hanamaki laughs. “You say that like you weren’t bawling your eyes out two hours ago.”

“You say that like _you_ weren’t bawling your eyes out.”

“Touché.”

Another breeze blows by them, rustling the tiny buds of cherry blossoms that are just beginning to bloom in the trees. Hanamaki sighs, “Can’t believe we won’t be around to see them in April again.”

“Yeah…”

“Ugh, stop it, seriously.”

“I’m gonna,” Hanamaki sniffs. “Really miss you guys. And everyone else. And volleyball, and—.”

“Hanamaki, I swear, stop it now.”

He looks Hajime in the eye and still manages a shaky grin. “What’re you gonna do, make me run laps?”

And out of everything else that has happened today, that line is the last 1% that causes the bottle to burst open, and everything spills out. Apparently, it’s the case for the others, too, and they have to pause under one of the trees. 

“Oh, isn’t this the place we first met?” Hajime points out, tears garbling his voice.

“You dropped your shoe onto my head,” Hanamaki recalls in a mixture of tears and giggles. “And then you _fell_ on Mattsun. On the first day!”

“There was a rhinoceros beetle!”

“On school grounds?”

“Guys.” Matsukawa is muffled by his shirt, but he still manages to get their attention. “Hate to interrupt, but wrong tree. It was that one.”

“Fuck.”

“Oh, we’re idiots.”

“Why are we even crying, we’re gonna see each tomorrow anyway.”

“Shut up, Iwaizumi,” Hanamaki and Matsukawa say at the same time.

“Just saying— and hey, Hanamaki, we can go over to your house everyday now, right?”

“Ugh, knew there was a catch somewhere. Sure. Mattsun, you’ve gotta prepare more paper cannonballs.”

“Aye aye.”

Later, when Hajime has looked at his calendar, he’ll realize that today’s the day Oikawa’s cast was supposed to come off. 

The next morning, he changes the route of his morning jogs so that he passes by the Oikawa household at least four times everyday. 

* * *

Matsukawa and Hanamaki leave for universities in Tokyo. Hajime stays behind in Miyagi.

Spring passes by in the blink of an eye. Hajime gets a keyboard piano in the mail on his birthday, awkwardly stuffed into a box labeled CLOTHES. There’s a card taped onto it, with a messy “HBD IWA, GET THAT CLOSET BOY” and a Lenny Face scribbled below that.

He sends a thank you disguised as a disgruntled text back.

And of course, because those idiots don’t do things by halves, the instrument is in top condition, maybe even brand new.

They’re probably broke college students regretting all of their life decisions now. Hajime snorts. He needs to treat those two to dinner sometime.

* * *

A couple weeks later, Hajime is met with the sound of a violin during his obligatory lap around Oikawa’s block.

If he has to be honest, it sounds akin to a dying cat.

Oikawa seems to have noticed him passing by. There’s always a pause when he arrives, and somehow, the music shifts into something softer, maybe sadder.

Lonelier. Oikawa sounds lonely.

Hajime has to stop himself from cracking and lugging the keyboard out with him to keep Oikawa company. It’s still too early for that.

So He stays with him, coming to a full stop on the front steps and not going home until hours later.

They don’t ever speak directly. But the bittersweet mix of violin and silence is enough to connect them together, somehow.

And so it becomes a new routine. Another month goes by.

* * *

On July 20th, Hajime gets Oikawa’s (non Iwa-chan phone) number from Yahaba and sends a single text message without any second thoughts.

**You:** ill be coming over today at 2, shittykawa

He doesn’t need to clarify who he is. Oikawa replies with a thumbs up and then Hajime is off, the summer heat clinging to his skin as he makes his way down the same path that has probably been engraved into his memory at this point.

There’s no need to just stop at the gates anymore. It’s unlocked, and Hajime pushes on.

The door opens before he even reaches the welcome mat.

The first thing he notices is how long Oikawa’s hair has gotten.

The next thing he notices is how tired he looks, eye bags even heavier than on those days following their impromptu all-nighters. 

And _his eyes_ , so wide and brown. Is Oikawa upset at him? Bothered by his sudden visit? Uncomfortable now that they’ve been apart for more than half a year now?

What was Hajime thinking? Where did all that confidence go, all that hope, all those plans he spent hours working on and perfecting?

What is he doing?

But when Oikawa breathes out a stunned, “Iwa-chan,” those doubts are washed away and Hajime smiles shakily.

It’s been far too long.

“Hey.”

Never again.

* * *

Of course, there’s still the current issue at hand, that being the cursed instrument sitting innocently on the table in the foyer.

Hajime takes one look at it and contemplates smashing it like its predecessor, but reconsiders. That would ruin everything he has planned for today.

“So,” Oikawa says, dragging out the ‘o’ sound boredly in an attempt to appear bored instead of bursting at the seams with excitement. “Makki said you had a surprise for me?”

Hajime rolls his eyes. Of course that guy would tell him something. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Oikawa pouts in response. “But Iwa-chan!”

“Go get me some drinks,” Hajime’s eyes flit around the room until he catches sight of the grand piano and he nearly grins triumphantly. “You’re a terrible host.”

“And you’re a terrible guest,” Oikawa sticks his tongue out, but he’s already on his way to the kitchen. When he returns with a bottle of green tea and two cups, Hajime is sitting on the piano bench, watching him. “What?”

“You were practicing before I got here, weren’t you.” It’s not a question.

“And? I already told you, I took too long of a break.” Oikawa crosses his arms over his chest defensively. “Iwa-chan, can we just not—.”

“Then play for me.”

“Huh?”

“Whatever you were practicing. Play it for me.”

“O… kay?” 

And Oikawa does play for him, albeit hesitant and suspicious at first. He loosens up after a few measures, but it’s not enough.

Hajime frowns when he finishes the section and looks up expectantly. “You’ve been practicing this part for weeks.”

“Yes, Iwa-chan. As expected of my biggest fan.”

“I was wrong.”

“Oh?”

“So, so wrong.”

“What? Does it sound better?”

“No,” Hajime wheezes. “It doesn’t just sound like a dying cat. It sounds like a goat after eating a limousine whole.”

“What— Iwa-chan, rude! And what is that even supposed to sound like?”

“Bad.”

“Oh. Bad, huh,” Oikawa hangs his head and Hajime almost feels guilty. Almost.

“But,” he adds as an afterthought. “I know a piece that’ll definitely be nice. One hundred percent guarantee.”

“Oho? And what would this magical piece be?”

Hajime gestures for him to lean in closer, and he does just that. “I’ll show you,” the pianist whispers. “Look, I have the sheet music right here.”

“And that is—.” Oikawa cuts himself off mid sentence with a surprised huff and he gapes at Hajime in disbelief. “Iwa-chan, what kind of joke—.”

“What?” Hajime shrugs. “It’s a good piece.”

“ _Twinkle Twinkle Little Star_?” he continues, seething. “And it looks like something from one of those terrible little kid books? Iwa-chan! This is sacrilege, even for a simple minded, musical casual neanderthal like you!”

“Well, if you’re so great, then you can play this _terrible beginner_ piece, right?”

“Why of course.”

“Prove it.”

“Maybe I will,” Oikawa says with such finality and conviction in his voice that Hajime snickers. “Just watch, I’ll blow you away with this.”

“Sure you will.”

“I mean it!”

Oikawa starts, mixing in a few irregular beats and improvisations into it in such an amazing Oikawa way that Hajime almost gets lost into the melody, almost forgets what he’s here for.

Right.

Oikawa doesn’t notice him vibrating with anticipation. He doesn’t notice anything off until Hajime’s fingers finally press down firmly and a deep chord resonates through the room.

His eyes shoot open. “Iwa-chan, what—.”

“What?” Hajime laughs airily. “Has a simple neanderthal like me managed to beat the mighty trash king at this?”

“Why you,” Oikawa’s grinning, and then he’s moving again. “Iwa-chan’s always full of surprises! It’s all stuffed into that tiny body of yours, huh.”

“Shut up.”

It’s a messy process, a painful clash between the violin and piano, yet they still manage to support each other through it all. There are so many mistakes but it’s still breathtaking, beautiful, and their ecstatic laughter floating with the notes only makes everything better.

Hajime and Tooru are whole again, united, moving at the same pace, _together_. They’re finally complete, dauntless, eternal. They’re each other’s beginnings, each other’s ends.

The moment comes to a close relatively quickly, but it has thrummed something in their hearts and Oikawa is—.

Oikawa is crying. Again.

“Ah, Oikawa—.”

“Iwa-chan!” he wails. “You can’t just come in here and do that!”

“...so it worked?”

“I don’t know _what_ you’re talking about but yes, probably.“

Hajime smirks proudly. “And that sounded much better, right? What did I tell you?”

“I’m crying, are you really kicking a man while he’s down?”

“Yes, you crybaby.”

“You brute.”

“But that was nice, right? Fun?”

“Yeah,” Oikawa sniffs. “Yeah, it was.”

“So,” his fingers return to hovering over the keys. “Any other _terrible beginner_ pieces you want to play? I brought the whole book over.”

“Ooh, ooh, is _Hot Cross Buns_ in here?”

* * *

Hajime stays the night again, and they barrel through almost all of the songs in the book he stole from Matsukawa’s brother. Oikawa adds so many twists and quirks of his own and Hajime messes up so many times, but he likes to think that they both had a good time.

“I bet that even Tobio has never perfected fifty variations of _Hot Cross Buns_ ,” Oikawa quips proudly when they’re sitting on his bed with his laptop playing a movie in the background.

“Ugh, whatever you say.”

“Tobio also doesn’t have such an amazing accompanist like you.”

“I’m your partner, not your accomplice. Ace, maybe,” Hajime corrects gruffly. He pauses. “Is that how it works in music?”

Oikawa simply giggles instead of answering.

The credits of the movie are rolling in when he finally speaks again. “Hey, Iwa-chan,”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For today. I had a lot of fun, really.”

Hajime knows. Oikawa means it, he’s telling the truth.

“Happy birthday, Tooru.”

* * *

One year later, the concert venue is still the exact same as the last time he saw it. Bright lights shining upon a grand stage and the hundreds of velvety black seats before it. The judges are still there, condescending as ever, and Hajime rolls his eyes.

They won’t be a problem, though. He knows they won’t.

Hanamaki hoots excitedly, slouching in his seat. “Woo! I haven’t been to a place like this since last year of primary!”

“That was a school auditorium,” Matsukawa says, not unkindly. “Most of the class was playing the recorder.”

“Same energy.”

“Whatever you say, Makki.” He leans in and gives Hanamaki a quick peck on the cheek and Hajime scrunches up his nose.

“Ugh,” he groans, covering his eyes when the two of them send smug looks his way. “I get it, you guys went to Tokyo to elope, you don’t have to shove it into my face.”

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Hanamaki replies smoothly. “Unless, of course, you’re still single and pining?”

“How could it be? Didn’t things work out with closet boy?”

“Guys,” Hajime scowls. “How many times do I have to tell you— that was just to get him to enjoy music again, not—.”

“And so he continues to lie to himself,” Matsukawa sighs. “Come on, you’re roommates.”

“Like I said, it’s cheaper that way.”

“You make him a loving breakfast every morning even though you always complain about not having enough time.”

“That dumbass just doesn’t eat enough by himself.”

“You sleep in the same bed.”

“ _Sometimes_. And he says he gets cold.”

“We’re in the middle of summer.”

“So? Oikawa runs cold.”

“He asks you to practice with him even though you’re probably the worst pianist in the world.”

“Hey!” Hajime squawks. “You were the one who taught me.”

“And I regret every second of it.”

“And, it’s just because there aren’t any other pianists around.”

Hanamaki is obviously unimpressed. “Dude, your neighbor is Hinata Shouyou. _Bokuto Koutarou_ lives three floors above you.,”

“They’re probably really busy.”

“So you _haven’t_ gotten together yet.”

“No! And there’s nothing going on between us!”

Someone shushes them and Hajime sinks lower into his seat, face red. “Besides,” he says, quieter. “It’s not like he likes me. Or— or I like him or something! Totally. Not. Uh.”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki exchange glances and give him a noncommittal hum, definitely not believing him.

Great. Does Hajime need to bribe them to keep their silence again?

He opens his mouth to retort but whatever he’s saying is drowned out by the sea of applause and dimming of the lights that follows the first performer on stage. 

Oikawa’s gaze drifts to the audience in a wide sweeping motion, and their eyes meet.

It’s completely silent when Hajime nods and Oikawa lets his normally stoic face quirk up into a small, sweet smile. He takes a moment to fumble with his tie that took Hajime almost twenty times to get perfectly straight earlier that morning.

“See?” Hanamaki rolls his eyes, mumbling quietly under his breath. “It’s so obvious, how do they not—.”

“Give them time, Makki,” Mattsun whispers back. “And besides. I think they’ll notice soon. If they don’t, we get to pass on our title as Team Idiots.”

“Shut up,” Hajime hisses. “He’s starting.”

“See? Absolutely whipped.”

Oikawa takes a deep breath, adjusts his stance, and his bow comes down.

It’s beautiful, just like him. Colorful and bright, just like his smiles. Freeing, sweet, just like his laughter.

It’s everything Hajime loves. Everything he lives for.

He’s Tooru.

There’s a pause, a small flourish, and another swing of his arm, and Hajime knows that the other boy isn’t on the stage, under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, right now. He’s home, in their shared apartment with soundproof walls— because _someone_ can’t take breaks at appropriate times— with Hajime at his side, bubbling laughter in the air, and the smell of lavender clinging onto everything in the room.

He’s home, where it’s warm and happy, where failure isn’t something to fear, where there’s no crushing competition of who’s the best, who’s better, who will win.

They’re home, where Saturday nights are spent marathoning through old alien and Godzilla movies that they’ve both watched a hundred times, laying in bed and just talking with each other until the other falls asleep. Home, where Hajime makes them pancakes with cream every late Sunday morning while Tooru works on perfecting some variation of _Mary Had a Little Lamb_ that he came up with on a whim, where Hajime scolds Tooru for not listening to his body’s limits and Tooru leaves his metronome running at an irritably distracting pace during a crammed study session. 

They’re home, where they know that they’re loved, cherished. That they have a place in each other’s hearts, in each other’s lives, a safe place to stay in when things get too much, a comforting pair of arms to go back to when everything else goes wrong.

The piece comes to a close with one final flourish, one final bow, another glance at Hajime and two blinks before Tooru’s turning away and walking backstage. 

Two blinks. _Meet me outside._

Hajime hastily collects his belongings and nudges Matsukawa. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

“Kay, stay safe. And stay out of the closets.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

He cuts through the lobby, nodding slightly to the people at the front desk, and is halfway outside when a hesitant “hey!” gets his attention.

Hajime turns with a raised brow. He could’ve sworn going outside wasn’t against any rules.

“Um.” Oh. It’s Kageyama, flushed from running out here to meet him. “Iwa— Iwa-san.”

“Iwaizumi,” Hajime corrects gently. He really needs to talk to Tooru about that.

“Iwaizumi-san.”

“Yeah?”

Kageyama gulps, then in a burst of confidence, blurts out, “Oikawa-san was good today. Thank you.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“But I’ll beat you two soon. Just watch.”

“Oh?”

“Hey, Kageyama! What’re you doing, we’re going up soon!” a voice interrupts. “Geez, I can’t believe they want us to work together. Kageyama! Get over here!”

Kageyama clicks his tongue in annoyance but gives Hajime a brief goodbye anyway. He runs back to smack a bumbling boy with orange hair in the back of the head.

Hinata Shouyou.

Weren’t they both soloists?

Oh dear. That’s going to be a problem, isn’t it?

But not for now. No, that’s for future Hajime and future Tooru to deal with.

For now, his only concern is the armload of Tooru that he gets the moment he steps outside. The heat outside is _terrible_ , and stepping directly out from an air conditioned room only makes it worse, but he still grins and squeezes back.

“Hey.”

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru croons, resting his chin on Hajime’s shoulder. “How was it?”

Fondness stirs up in Hajime’s chest as he ruffles Tooru’s hair gently. “You did great.”

Because he _knows_. He knows that they’re going to be together, forever, no matter what comes their way, no matter what obstacles they face, what geniuses they encounter along the way.

They’re Hajime and Tooru. Two halves of a single being, a king and his knight, a violinist and a pianist, a setter and his ace.

It was meant to be, this love.

And so the melodies of their lives interlace into an eternal harmony of ups and downs, highs and lows, fasts and slows.

A duet, just for the two of them.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay!!!! If you're still here thanks for reading lmao!!
> 
> Some Stuff:
> 
> \- Playing an instrument should be fun and you should enjoy it! that's what makes someone's music so beautiful, not just skill or talent!!
> 
> \- Menuhin (or, as I put here, Menuhan): it's this competition with a bunch of insanely talented violinists. like actually, they're crazy good, the amount of talent- especially in the junior competition. you should definitely check it out!! every year i watch it and go heh. look at that talent. couldn't be me lol
> 
> \- The pieces that I put in this fic are all v nice and imo you should really check them out!! (except for Bach Concerto but also I'm biased)
> 
> \- Wow, I actually know what I'm writing about. a lot of the stuff with violin in this was written based on my experiences. idk if this is normal but like?? sometimes when I play I can't hear a beat or tune and it just sounds wack to me. the feeling trapped part is a thing too; everything is perfect but it feels so wrong and restricted and I just can't yk
> 
> \- Sacrilege. if anyone got that ref...
> 
> \- If there's actually a cafe that sells kombucha TELL ME PLS
> 
> \- I DID WATARI SO DIRTY IN THIS HE WAS MENTIONED THREE TIMES. THREE
> 
> \- Time in this fic is messed up, I have no idea when anything happened, I don't even know if all of that could fit into that one year with all the time skips
> 
> \- I also have no idea what happened in this fic. what did I even write-
> 
> \- Also just for reference!! Akaashi is a violinist, Bokuto is a pianist, and Hinata is a pianist
> 
> \- (and about that.....a kagehina sequel maybe? bokuaka sequel? jk....unless.....)
> 
> \- The second part of this will come out sometime in December! it'll go through some events of this fic from other point of views to explain some stuff that might not have made sense from just Iwa's. it might also have an epilogue of some sort where the pining boys finally get together or that could be a separate fic, we'll see
> 
> \- Doc Title: "piano lessons? more like stfu lessons (theres actually like. no piano in this i am but a mere orchestra kid leave me alone)"  
> Meant this as a joke but then Iwa started Makki's Marvelous Piano Lessons and I was like holy shit. I'm genius (no I'm not but shhh)
> 
> \- Big shoutout to Makki and Mattsun for surviving Hajime's reign as captain, they've probably run more laps in one year than I have in my whole life
> 
> \- And while we're on that, someone get Makki a raise, he doesn't get paid enough for this
> 
> \- Oikawa's injuries. I have no idea okay
> 
> \- Kageyama's way of playing isn't exactly ugly, per se. he probably just focuses more on perfection and plays in a very technical way! meanwhile Oikawa focuses more on emotions and expression in his playing. both are very pretty okay!
> 
> \- I have also!! never been in a competition before, only recitals!! so I have minimal knowledge on how they work lol. pretty sure performers aren't allowed to just leave though, so let's just say oikawa and kageyama have special ninja powers or something
> 
> \- Like I said in the beginning, I'll be participating in NaNoWriMo starting tomorrow! and right after I wrote 20k that won't even count :)  
> So anyway, I won't be posting anything until December comes around!
> 
> \- Also funny story, I've been screaming about the word count in my status and an irl asked about it and I was like "oh! do you wanna read" because I'm a fool and they were like sure so now I can either give them this link or just make a copy and change the names! so fun!
> 
> \- Edit: fjhgfdkjhg gave another irl my account and this is probably gonna be the first fic they click on so. uh. hi. can you just. send me a text pls
> 
> aaaaaAAAA this got long I'm so sorry
> 
> EDIT: PLEASE FORGIVE ME I SAID DECEMBER AND IT IS VERY NOT DECEMBER ANYMOREJKFHGKJF i have like. 50 new wips in the folder but i swear. im working on part two. //i swear//
> 
> Here's my [Discord](https://discord.gg/E8rnymG) if anyone wants to join!! I also have a [Tumblr](https://itslinsanity.tumblr.com/) now!


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